Shadow Knight
by Cro-Magnon
Summary: In an alternate universe my PC Kijani, and not Sir Edmund, is Axle's Shadow Knight. This is dedicated to swimsy, who most graciously allows me to borrow her child Cari to play with him. If you read it please leave feedback. It really helps me get better!
1. Knight’s Vigil

**Shadow Knight**

_Knight's Vigil_

Solace Glade, the Sword Coast  
_15 Eleasias, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

_Cyric's blood,_ Carianna thought, _how does he do it?_

Kijani spun, parried a blow meant for her shoulder, parried another meant for his exposed flank, then cut and stabbed, the Luskan assassin grunting as both attacks drew blood. Then he stop-cut with his off-hand, stabbed back over his shoulder, and lastly slashed horizontally, decapitating the Luskan. The assassin behind him screamed, blood streaming from an empty eye socket, before he stiffened and slowly toppled to the ground of Solace Glade.

"Need help with yours?" he laughed, moonlight dancing in his hazel eyes.

Carianna lunged, katana blades crossed over each other, and both sank deeply into her assassin's chest.

"No thanks," she grunted with effort, drawing the blades sideways, slashing them out of the man's lungs to do maximum damage, lethal damage.

"You favour the twin sword style of _l'ilythiiri,_"¹ he mentioned, stooping lightly to wipe his blades on the tunics of those he had so casually killed, before sheathing them in one fluid motion.

"The what?" she asked, trying to emulate him, but not quite succeeding.

"Two heavier swords, used at the same time, but with effort, not finesse."

It was the truth, although she had never thought of it in that way.

"I do what I can," she smiled, disarmingly.

"The last girl that smiled at me that way ended up warming my bedroll," he grinned, "Are you that desperate to buck tradition?"

"Are you that desperate to lose your only squire?" she asked, the smile on her lips not quite reaching her eyes, "And I'm _no_ girl!"

"Oh I wouldn't mind," he drawled, "It was Axle's idea, not mine. Just how old are you anyway, _girl?_"

_I wonder if Axle would mind if I killed my sponsor,_ she thought.

* * *

¹ drow:- the drow

* * *

Merchant Quarter, Neverwinter  
_13 Eleasias, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

"You've really gone and done it this time girl," Moire had smirked when she had entered Axle's house.

As usual, the sulky, snarling, elf had been leaning against a wall, arms crossed, but with her hand close to the grip of her rapier.

_One of these days Axle's going to beg me to take you out, you rabid cur,_ Carianna had thought, yet had nodded at Axle's lieutenant as she passed into his sanctum.

"Ignore Moire, for now," Axle had said, not looking up from the vellum spread out in front of him.

Carianna could see it was a map of some sort, but had considered it prudent not to enquire about it.

"Cari, meet Sir Kijani," Axle had introduced the breastplate clad man with the dark skin, black hair and tattooed face, "He's one of us, but is in the unique position of also having Nasher's ear."

"Fascinating," Carianna had smirked.

"Oh, I agree," the shadow knight had drawled, tipping a ridiculous hat at her, "I really don't know why he knighted me, but for someone in your position, it does bear advantages."

"How so?" she had asked, somewhat intrigued, returning his chivalry with as ribald a wink as she could.

"Kijani's agreed to take you on as his squire," Axle had elaborated.

"His _what?_" she had exploded, her fury evoking emerald fire from her eyes.

"An inelegant suggestion," Kijani had agreed, appreciating her fire, "but with Luskan on your leather-clad arse, it might pay to play along."

"I can handle Luskan," she had declared, full of bravado. She did not need anyone to support her argument with Axle.

"I think not," Axle had disagreed, finally looking up from his map, and then added threateningly, "But with Kijani's help you might just live long enough to beat an actual trial _here,_ in Neverwinter."

"What makes you think he can handle them and I can't?" she had resisted out of stubborn habit.

"You haven't seen the man in action," is all that Axle had answered.

* * *

Solace Glade, the Sword Coast  
_15 Eleasias, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

Now she had, and as hard as it was to admit, Axle had been right. Hells take the man. Not to mention the way he looked when killing so effortlessly.

_I wonder if Axle would mind if my sponsor killed me if I tried,_ she corrected, grinning to herself.

"I'm ten-and-nine," she answered, and then stabbed verbally, twisting the dagger once it was in, "and just how old are you, _Sir?_"

Kijani laughed, allowing the sneaky attack to land, before riposting, "You may call me Kijani when we're alone, squire, and I'm only as young as the maiden I feel."

"That old?" she stabbed again, hoping for an opening.

"That old," he grinned, then feinted, "It suits you well."

"What does?"

"Your year of birth."

"My year of birth?" she echoed, trying to recover.

"The Year of Shadows," he smiled, then grinned even wider, "You really are a Harborman aren't you. Ever heard of that crazy witch, Augathra the Mad?"

"Never killed anyone by that name, no," she parried none too skilfully.

"Well she apparently predicted the future or some such; quite accurately too, or so they say."

"What of it?" she asked, curious despite herself.

"Well she named each year, which comes in quite handy when you have Dale Reckoning in this part of Faerûn, Cormyr Reckoning in Cormyr and North Reckoning in Waterdeep. And that's just to mention a few ways the sages count years."

"So when did this Agatha predict you'd die then?" she grinned.

"She didn't. But I was rather aptly _born_ in the Year of the Wanderer."

"And where did that miscarriage happen?"

"A long way from here," he replied evenly, "You wouldn't know the place…"

"Oh really?"

"I didn't know West Harbor had acquired a geography tutor in recent years," he drawled, obviously feinting again.

"Oh, fine," she exploded, turning her back on him, "keep your hrasted secrets."

"So, are you willing to let me teach you, Cari?"

_Yes I am, but I'll die before I admit it,_ she thought.

"If I can learn to kill as easily as you can," she replied instead, "then the answer is 'yes'. You can save your lore for Grobnar and condescending for Qara. They would appreciate it more, I'm sure."

"I was born in Ormpur," Kijani replied, sealing their unspoken pact, "the City of Saffron."

* * *

The Dolphingulf, Lapaliiya  
_27 Tarsakh, the Year of Shadows (1358 DR)_

Kijani remembered the day of the storm, the day he had killed his first man. The storm had blown in from Tharsult; the crew, convinced they had angered the Bitch Queen, Umberlee and the Storm Lord, Talos, had beached the old ship, dismantled the mast and had wrapped and laid the sail against the cliffs that marked the Dolphingulf. They had been on the trade run from the City of Saffron to the Tashalan port of Tashluta, last free City of the Seabreeze. They had been sitting around fires talking and laughing, playing dice; against all odds they had outrun the storm, had avoided the gods' wrath. They were alive, and their relieved laughter had echoed around the cliffs, the sound drifting into the shadow-haunted jungle beyond.

The killers had attacked silently from the jungle—Malar worshippers from the Black Jungle, the firelight gleaming from raised swords and axes, and hungry eyes. The unarmed sailors had stood no chance, they were hacked down without mercy; their blood stained the sand and the mouths of their killers.

As always, he had been sitting away from the others, lying on his back in the rocks, staring up at Selûne, her tears and the distant stars. At the first screams, he had rolled to his knees, watching the slaughter in the moonlight. Armed with a single rusty knife, the young sailor had been powerless to help his comrades. Crouching down he had hid, trembling, on the cold stones, the incoming tide lapping at his legs. He could hear the Beastlord's followers feasting on the fallen and plundering the ship, tearing open the hatches and unloading the booty. Saffron and liqueur from Ormpur, silks from the lands of Durpar, and a shipment of silver ingots bound for the mint in the City of Slithering Vines, as the capitol of the Tashalar was also known.

Towards dawn, one of the attackers had walked into the rocks to relieve himself. Terror had filled Kijani with panic, but then something else rose within him, flaring like a light within his skull. He had reared up before the astonished reaver, plunging his rusty dagger into the man's chest up to the hilt. The hunter had pitched forward without a sound. Dragging him out of sight, Kijani had drawn a knife from the man's belt and slit his throat to make sure he was dead.

The dead man had worn two short swords, their ivory hilts tightly bound with leather. Kijani had unbuckled the sword-belt and swung it around his own waist. Relieving the man of his bulging purse, he had stolen away through the rocks, leaving the scene of the massacre far behind. He had been the age of the young woman standing before him, defiance storming in her sea green eyes.

* * *

Solace Glade, the Sword Coast  
_15 Eleasias, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

"So how _did_ you learn to fight like that?" Carianna asked, sitting down, cross-legged to clean her blades with oil.

"You handle your weapons with respect."

"I hadn't noticed," she winked.

"Do you know anything about Lapaliiya?" he asked, sitting down opposite her, gently moving one katana to his own lap, as if he might be holding her hand and not deadly steel.

"As you said yourself," she replied, a little disturbed by his casual proximity, "I'm but a Harborman. We don't get out of the Mere much."

"Well, should I bore you with some lore or not, squire?"

Carianna sensed the danger. This man before her had not merely mentioned his place of birth; she had inadvertently opened a part of his past he was perhaps reluctant to share with her. She was in two minds as to harm or to heal.

"I wish for some lore then, Kijani, if you'd be willing to tell me," she healed, despite herself.

"My mother was a Shaaran gypsy, a talented acrobat. My father was a minor noble. My mother's dark grace must have caught his eye during a sober moment between bottles of Ormpurian liqueur."

"Sounds like a pleasant man," she grinned, hoping the sarcasm in her voice was evident enough.

_Mystra's frigid chastity belt,_ she thought, _why am I being so gods cursed nice to him?_

"Oh, pleasant enough," Kijani smiled, not missing her exhale of relief, "He actually married my mother after getting her with child. She died of the plague when I was still a child, while he… he died… later."

"You killed your own father?" Carianna gasped.

Sure, she had had thoughts of murdering her foster father, Daeghun, curse his elven dispassion, but she had never seriously considered it.

"I was young, dangerous and stupid," he snarled, "much like you are now."

"I didn't…" she parried, but his hurtful words overpowered her restraint, "Black Sun take you, you gods-hrasted hypocrite."

"Forgive me," he whispered, barely audible.

"Why?"

She wanted to hate him, daring herself not to.

"Your questions have brought back many unpleasant memories," he conceded, guard down for the first time in so long.

"Tell me more," she insisted, her price steep and to her advantage as usual.

"After she died, I took ship, and Tempus be praised, found a captain looking for a cabin boy. I travelled with that crew for close on ten years before our luck ran out."

"What happened?"

"I earned my swords," he stated, simply and flatly.

"But who taught you?"

"Lapaliiya did."

"Oh?" she feigned disinterest.

"In the Lapal League, honour is all," he grinned, meeting her eyes, "They fight duels with you over the way you look at them, when you cough too loud or over the colour of your hair or eyes—anything."

"The colour of your eyes?" she asked, incredulous.

"You'd have many duels there," he laughed, "Your eyes are too green and therefore an affront to their ancestors."

"Oh really?" she smirked, thinking he was lying.

"So when I strolled into Tashluta, my clothes torn and threadbare, but with two swords strapped to my waist, I affronted many and would've died that very day, had not a master swordsman seen my predicament—and my pride—and saved my life."

"How so?"

"When he found me, I'd been surrounded by five angry duellists. It would've been an even half dozen, but by sheer luck, I'd already killed one of my 'appointments' that afternoon."

"Gods," she exclaimed, "don't tell me you were always this cock sure?"

"To tell you the truth, Cari," he grinned, "I'd wet my trousers during that first duel. I'd been _terrified,_ but my pride had been greater, and Sigguer had seen that."

"Your teacher?" she asked, wide eyed in wonder.

"Enough!" he cried, handing her back her sword, "A boon, before I say another word. By the Foehammer, you're insatiable!"

"Name your price," she grinned, "Any price…"

"We spar, not with words or innuendo, but with steel. I'll relate my tale during, and you may ask your questions if indeed you have the breath for it."

"It'll be my pleasure," she grinned again, jumping up like a cat, already swinging with her right-hand katana.

She had not seen him move, he was that quick, but his short, flat blade—held by an ivory hilt bound with leather—somehow stopped her Kara-Turan steel.

* * *

Carianna barely had time to bring her blade up, as his short sword flashed for her face. They had been sparring, if that is what you called practicing with live steel, for only a short while and already she could feel the familiar burn in her calves. She knew she was retreating too much, but against this fury, what else could she do. She might have managed to sneak barbs and slashes past his guard verbally, but with his blood up and with swords, she stood no chance at all.

"Sigguer…" she grunted, as the flat of his blade slapped against her shoulder, "tell me… about him."

"Tiring already, squire?" he laughed, then slapped her thigh and blocked her left-hand blade in quick succession.

"Cari!" she hissed through clenched teeth, "Name's… Cari."

_Dark Sun help me,_ she thought, _that's going to hurt in the morning. If I even make it to the dawn._

"Very well, Cari, if it'll improve your swordplay," he patronised, "Sigguer was the best swordsman in Tashluta."

Carianna grunted again, as he blocked both her blades, twisting them out to her sides, using the counter-force she exerted to slip past her guard and slap his swords against her hips. She cursed again.

"One look at him and my five opponents had bowed and taken their leave," Kijani continued, as if merely sitting in a tavern, regaling her over some ale, "He'd called them back though, promising them all a _rematch_ once I could prove to be a fair fight."

She slipped, coming down hard on one knee, desperately bringing up her blades to chop frantically at his swords. One came past her hasty guard nonetheless, rapping hard against her upper arm. She winced and nearly dropped that blade as her hand went numb.

"I'd hated the man at that moment, promising my future away so easily. So I trained under him and he showed me the way of the sword. And when I'd learned all I could from him, I challenged him."

"Did you win?" Carianna asked, grunting triumphantly, as her katana scraped across his breastplate.

"Does killing excite you?" he asked in return, dropping his guard a little.

"And if it does?" she arched a brow at him, taking advantage of his lapse. She still was not fast enough.

"For a time, it was _all_ I could think about."

Carianna attacked furiously, cutting, stabbing, feigning, but he slapped her blades away until, with arms cramping and wrists sore, her katanas simply fell from stiff fingers.

"Do you yield then, Cari?" he asked, short swords held casually at his sides.

_I'll be hrasted if I do,_ she thought.

"I do, Kijani," she smiled and shrugged as he sheathed his swords.

With her hurt thigh cramping, tired calves protesting, she nevertheless rushed at him. She managed by luck, or by some fickle god's blessing, to catch him off guard. Or so she thought. The punch when it came, hit her squarely between and slightly above her breasts. Her leathers softened the blow, but she still crumpled around his fist, arms and legs jerking towards him like some spastic marionette. Her momentum arrested, she landing heavily on her rump and collapsed backwards. He kneeled on her sternum, blade against her throat, his eyes blazing fury.

"Don't _ever_ try that again Carianna," he whispered, like drawn steel, "or I'll do Luskan a favour and kill you myself."

"Yes," she seethed, gritting her teeth against the pain, the lack of air and the humiliation.

"Now then, shall I help you remove your leathers, squire, or will you manage it yourself?" he asked, getting up to rummage through his pack.

"You've thumped me so much," she smiled, bitter-sweetly, "perhaps you should be the gentleman and help me."

"Would you have preferred it had I cut you?" he asked, producing a silver jar of ointment.

"It may have stung _far_ less."

"That it may," he laughed, setting the jar in the fire, before stepping behind her and removing his gloves.

His nimble fingers made fast work of the buckles and clasps, and soon he had divested her of her armour.

"Now your clothes," he commanded, picking the jar out of the fire as if it was cool to the touch, which it was.

"You sure know how to show a girl a good time," she grinned sardonically, "Smallclothes too?"

"If you wish," he smiled, "but it'll be this, and not a quick tumble, that'll help with the bruising."

"How?" she hid her disappointment.

"It absorbs the heat of the fire," he explained, as he slathered some ointment into his hands, "then releases it into your muscles. You'll thank me in the morning."

"I'm sure I will," she winked.

She groaned as his hands massaged her bruised bicep, and then groaned some more, in relief this time, as the pain started subsiding.

"You're good with those hands," she purred, like a cat, arching her back.

"You have spirit," he soothed, kneading the pain out of her thigh, "but it's broken. You can't fight and hope to win without it being whole again though."

"And _yours_ is whole?"

"It's whole enough," he sighed, then stopped to inspect the tattoo on her hip, before applying more ointment. "This mark… I may've killed some of your peers before."

"My peers?"

"Cyric's top assassins, yes, the Black Roses. One tried to kill me in my sleep, but when I woke up, he couldn't fight a fair fight. The other was a good swordsman; she would've made the Lord of Battles proud."

"Is that supposed to scare me?"

She winced as he rubbed the salve onto her chest. It was already turning an angry purple where she had run into his fist.

"Your secret's safe enough with me," Kijani stated, matter-of-factly, then kneeled to inspect her knee. "When we get back to Neverwinter, go see a priest or healer. This knee's going to stiffen up and will be of no use to you if you don't. If asked about payment, you may mention my name."

"How charitable of you," she scoffed, as he returned to their packs, "I have my own coin you know."

"Then use it if you must," he stated, tossing her rolled up bedroll at her, "Now get some sleep, squire."

"What about the vigil?" she asked, yawning as she shook it out.

"Right now you need the rest more than some arcane tradition," he grinned, tossing another log on the fire.

"What about you?" she asked, her eyes inviting him to all manner of distractions.

"I'll decline your offer for _tonight,_" he smiled, then urged, "Sleep now, Cari, I'll wake you up before sunrise."

"You're an intriguing man," she yawned again, then on impulse blew him a kiss.

He caught it deftly, smiling softly as he pocketed it inside a pouch on his belt. Carianna smiled too and was fast asleep.

* * *

Ormpur, Lapaliiya  
_7 Flamerule, the Year of the Wyvern (1363 DR)_

"So you've come back?" his father had slurred, three empty clay urns strewn across the floor like broken dreams.

"I see you've _moved on_ to the cheap stuff," Kijani had observed sarcastically, "Easier to forget about her that way."

"You know nothing!" the older man had argued, trying to get up from the straight-backed chair, but failing.

"Don't bother getting up; I won't be staying long."

"You carry swords now?" the Lord of House Saffron had observed, "Thinking to raise weapons against your old man, eh?"

Though it shared the name of the city they had always called home, House Saffron was but minor nobility, prominent only for its production of the spice for which it and the city was named. Merchant matters rested on the broad shoulders of an uncle and the stooped ones of a spinster aunt, both older than his father. With too much coin to spend and too much time on his hands, his father had found his vocation as a minor drunk in most of the better alehouses in Ormpur.

It had been in one of these that he had first laid eyes on her, her dark beauty captivating him, as her dance entranced the crowd. He never drank in another alehouse after that, and for a time he had even sobered up a little, enough to become a passable suitor to win her hand. Being a restless spirit, she had laughed at the idea, and him, at first. Nevertheless, he had been persistent, if somewhat clumsy in his pursuit, and little by little she had come to care for him in return.

As a Shaaran, and a gypsy at that, she had never possessed much and had therefore always been drawn to the cities rather than the plains of her birth. She loved the bustle, the gifts, the keepsakes—trophies from her life as dancer and acrobat. Yet when he had shown her the family estates, she had known in her heart that she could live as a lady of House Saffron. Thus, they had lain together, and when she was late and had had it confirmed by a midwife, he had married her despite the frowns of his older siblings.

"I should kill you a thousand times, for what you made her suffer through," Kijani had seethed.

"Kelemvor take you," the man erupted, finally getting to his feet, "She suffered as _little_ as this house could afford. The plague… Argh, but you were too young to remember."

"I do remember how you beat her… and me."

"Not enough in your case it seems," Lord Saffron had spat, slugging back a good swig from his fourth urn of the morning.

From Kijani's birth, his mother had doted on him, lavishing on him all the love she never felt for her husband. Though she cared for his father, she had never loved him as much as he adored her in return, and in a sense had proven her siblings-in-law right about her intentions. She had seen the opportunity to possess something permanent and had given herself in exchange for obtaining it. To her it had been a small price to pay.

As Kijani grew up his father had become increasingly jealous of him, sensing, finally, what had really been on the mind of the woman he had pursued for so long. Often he had only wanted to discipline his son, but mostly he spared neither the rod, nor the child. When his wife would intervene, his rage spilled over like seawater; slowly swamping the boat they called marriage.

Due to his father's hand, Kijani had loved his mother more and more, and they would often find solace from the beatings in each other's arms. At other times she would dance for him, or sing to him, as his father watched her, unseen, a silent spectator. Despite the rages, those had been the boy's happiest times, until the plague had come and the fever had burned it all to the hells.

"Too much in her case," Kijani had countered, knuckles white around the ivory of his swords.

"I loved her!" the older man had roared, knocking the urn to the floor, spilling wine like hearts blood.

"Yet you hated me?"

"I was a jealous fool," his father had railed, "but the plague had put paid to my folly. Now you wish to _follow_ in my footsteps?"

"What do you mean?" Kijani had rasped, drawing his steel.

"I'm a drunken fool. I may _always_ have been a drunken fool," Lord Saffron admitted, "but I loved your mother; as much as she'd loved _you,_ my son."

"Don't you dare excuse yourself like that!"

"You know it's the truth, I can see it in your eyes."

"I should kill you now, cut out your lying tongue!"

"You should," his father had agreed, "You'd do me a favour son."

With sudden clarity, Kijani who had seen enough of the hearts of Tashlutar men, and women, had understood. "I can't give you that absolution, but I'll remember this day, father."

He had walked out, leaving behind an older and mostly drunk father, slumped and sobbing in his chair. House Saffron servants had found his father's body the next day, lying dead amongst the lilac flowers, in the saffron fields where Kijani had been conceived.

* * *

Solace Glade, the Sword Coast  
_15 Eleasias, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

"I thought this was supposed to be _my_ vigil?" Carianna laughed from right behind him.

Kijani jerked slightly. He had been reliving that day—and many others—in his mind, as the fire burnt down to mere embers. His mood was much like the fire, and he had not heard the assassin sneak up on him.

"You're pretty good at doing that," he hid his discomfort.

"What, sneaking up on people?"

"I'd probably have been dead by now, had I been your intended victim."

"Who says you're not?" she grinned.

"As I said: if indeed I were, I'd be dead," he stated sardonically.

"Perhaps I'd let you live," she winked, trying to lighten his mood.

He would not bite.

"What's wrong, Kijani?" she asked, slightly exasperated at her ploy not working.

"I've had a lot to think about," he sighed, "Perhaps you're right, perhaps this was indeed _my_ vigil."

"So my lord does have some chinks in his armour?"

"And my squire does have a sensitive side," he smiled at her.

"Hey, I resent that!" she teased.

"Then let us not waste any more time with maudlin."

He jumped up, grabbed her in his arms and gave her a surprise kiss.

"What was that for?" she grinned, touching fingers to her lips.

"For understanding, Cari, and not scratching for the truth just yet," he replied, letting go of her.

"I'll be sure to understand more often then," she agreed, smiling to herself.

"Come then, squire," he commanded, "Lord Nasher awaits his latest noble."

"If we must," she groaned, turning to find her clothes and armour.


	2. A Short Reprieve

_Author's Note_: Please note that some of the material you are about to read is definitely rated as **Mature** Teen for scenes of nudity and strong language. You should be 16 years old or older before continuing on, as strong adult themes are explored. Please do NOT continue if any of these make you uncomfortable. There are graphic and descriptive scenes in this narrative.

**Shadow Knight**

_A Short Reprieve_

Blacklake District, Neverwinter  
_15 Eleasias, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

"The Lady Ambassador of Luskan, Mistress Torio Claven, my lord!" the door steward announced.

Lord Nasher visibly wilted on his throne.

"Show her in," he signalled the steward, allowing the insufferable woman past the palace guard.

"Lord Nasher," she crowed, storming into the throne room and giving Neverwinter's ruler the barest of curtsies, "I hear you have apprehended the butcher responsible for the massacre at Ember."

"Indeed," Sir Nevalle replied, brown eyes flashing dangerously. "But if you do not learn some respect in this room, ambassador, we can detain you inside one of the Watch's guarding cells until you do—perhaps along with your accused."

Torio's mocking smile evaporated. She ran nervous fingers through her short and tousled hair in a manner suggesting that she was not quite sure if the knight was being serious or not.

"Please Prince of Lies, make it so," Carianna whispered.

Kijani snorted.

"Did you wish to say something, Sir Kijani?" Lord Nasher fumed, having heard Carianna's wish.

"Nothing at this time, my lord," the knight smirked, trying desperately to regain a more formal composure.

"Your irreverence sometimes makes me doubt whether my decision during the war had been the right one."

"No more than I doubt my own decision, my lord," Kijani bowed, flourishing his ridiculous hat, "We all make mistakes sometimes."

* * *

The North  
_The Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)_

They had called 'him' the Hero of Neverwinter. In fact, there was even a statue erected in 'his' honour in the Neverwinter Park. Kijani knew it was all merely lip service by an insecure leader a little too afraid of losing his throne. Kijani also knew that the Hero of Neverwinter had not been a single person. There had been others, men and women who had served Neverwinter during its darkest time. Some had even died for their folly. One had been buried in the Tomb of Betrayers, a scapegoat to appease the mob. One had been hanged for her crimes, buried in an unmarked grave in her hometown of Thundertree.

Kijani had met the real hero, a person of integrity, a person of peace during a time of siege. Kijani had been killing some of the finest soldiers of the Lord's Alliance during the Elk Tribe's siege of Fort Ilkard. That was until the Hero had walked into Zokan Thunderer's camp while everyone had been dying from the Wailing Death. The Hero had brought a cure for a dying tribe and a soulless mercenary. The price had been the life of a Neveren noble, the corrupt man who had sent the tainted blankets to infect the Elk Tribe. When he had returned to the camp and heard the news, Kijani had made his way over to where the Hero had been busy tending to a sick child. He had drawn his swords and presented them, ivory hilts first, as a sign of his allegiance.

There had also been others, heroes in their own right, who had allied themselves with the Hero. There had been the caring but clumsy elven healer. The beautiful and talented bard had been born in Neverwinter. Kijani had learned to admire the half-orc who was now the leader of the Red Tiger Tribe. The halfling thief from Calimport he had liked yet had never quite trusted. A gnome sorcerer all the way from Lantan had proven less strange than had the dwarven monk of the Long Death. All of them had seen the injustice the Hero had fought against repeatedly.

Kijani had fought bravely and skilfully against the invaders during the war with Luskan. Lord Nasher had simply seen a man he could use to diminish the legend of the Hero. He had offered Kijani a knighthood as both a reward and a warning since the Lord's Alliance still had a price on his head. If he became a noble of Neverwinter, he could avoid their justice. However, after the war with Luskan, the Hero of Neverwinter had left and so had the others. Not one could abide by what Lord Nasher himself had perpetrated in the name of justice.

Kijani was now a knight, but with a liege that had no more use for him. His lord had doomed himself however, doomed himself to a constant reminder of all that he no longer was. He had thought to pit Kijani against the Hero, yet, Kijani had remained loyal to that hero. He had therefore become a liability. A very dangerous liability, judging by the deaths of those assassins sent against him. Even two of the Order of the Black Rose had failed. Fortunately, with the Hero of Neverwinter gone, 'his' deeds in those dark days could be diminished. The deeds of lesser heroes, like the Nine, had been elevated in 'his' place. Neverwinter's people had almost forgotten about their Hero. Almost forgotten except by a trapped knight, a knight who remembered.

* * *

Blacklake District, Neverwinter  
_15 Eleasias, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

"Sir Kijani… it is a rare thing to see you here at court," the ambassador sneered. She was well aware of the failed assassination attempt at Solace Glade, scant bells before, and was rather unhappy about the outcome.

"To the relief of us both I'm certain, my lady," Kijani replied, bowing again with another ridiculous flourish.

"And what brings you here?" Torio asked, irked by the mockery, "It must be a matter of some urgency."

"Yes, please, Sir Kijani," Lord Nasher urged, enjoying the ambassador's discomfort, despite his knight's antics, "You were just going to elaborate when we were interrupted."

Torio scowled, and then remembered Nevalle's threat. She adopted a bemused look instead.

"I understand that this woman's been accused of a crime, and is to be turned over to Luskan for justice."

Not quite realising the intrigue taking place, Carianna desperately whispered, "If you really wanted to get me out of this scrape you should just take Torio for a tumble, and then kill her."

Kijani turned to her as if she had suddenly sprouted wings, horns and a devil's tail.

"You have heard correctly. What concern is it of yours?" Lord Nasher asked, choosing again to ignore the squire's whispering.

"My lord, I'm here to tell you that she's my squire, and as such, isn't subject to the terms of the Luskan treaty."

"What is this nonsense?" Torio exploded, "This knight has no squire."

"I would choose your words carefully, ambassador," Lord Nasher warned, enjoying the moment, "lest I think you were accusing one of my knights of speaking lies."

"I only hear the words of a man shielding a murderer."

_Says a naga about a viper,_ Kijani thought, hands resting on ivory hilts.

"Then let the accused speak," Lord Nasher commanded, as if reading his thoughts, "What say you—does my knight speak truly? Are you his squire?"

"Not by choice," Carianna admitted, "but there was nothing else to be done."

"And so even the slayer of Ember denies the truth of this—and shows this mockery for what it is," Torio spat, furious at being denied, "There is no justice in this—but I was a fool to expect justice in Neverwinter."

"No less than the squire could have expected in Luskan," Sir Nevalle remarked, as the ambassador stormed out. He smiled as Torio stiffened at his words, and then continued on her way.

"Seeing that gloating smile stripped from her face pleases me more than you will know," Lord Nasher mused then added for the benefit of the others, "But this has bought only a little more time, time we cannot afford to waste. We must find the truth of what happened at Ember, and quickly. You have my leave to depart Neverwinter, squire, provided you give your word to return for the trial."

"Of course, Lord Nasher," Kijani pre-empted his squire's response.

"Travel to Port Llast, squire" Lord Nasher continued, "Someone there can guide you to Ember—then return with whatever you can find that will prove your innocence. Perhaps after this trial, I will have some duties for you."

_Serve Neverwinter, and it'll serve you,_ Kijani recalled scornfully as they took their leave.

* * *

Docks District, Neverwinter  
_15 Eleasias, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

"So how'd your bloody night with your bloody knight go?" Bishop snarled as they entered the Sunken Flagon tavern.

_He's being unusually surly for so late in the day,_ Carianna thought to herself. _By now, he should've shared a few tankards of ale with Khelgar and would've shaken off most of his bad mood._

"Well enough," she shared mysteriously, "We had to kill some Luskan assassins, but afterwards Sir Kijani showed me how to oil a sword properly."

"Luskans?"

"One of them was wearing this ring," Kijani said, producing a silver ring with an unusual pattern.

"Let me see that, my dear knight," Sand requested from where he was seated, sipping on some feywine.

Kijani strolled over and dropped the ring into the moon elf's delicate, outstretched hand. He did not miss the sour look the ranger gave him, nor that the man's copper eyes were following his every move.

"Very interesting," Sand mused, waiting to get the others' attention with his cryptic tone.

"Oh for the gods' sakes, you insufferable elf, just tell us," Qara ignited, "Or is it possible you don't actually know anything you haven't _read_ about in your precious _books_ first?"

"Aye," Khelgar slurred, banging his tankard on the bar, spilling foam and ale in equal amounts, "For once I agree with Princess Firehair!"

"Very well," Sand sniffed, grinning inwardly, "This is a ring of one of the Circle of Blades' assassins."

"I see you know something about them too, Sand," Kijani stated, being vaguely familiar with the hedge-wizard's past.

"My dear Sir; now is not the time for old rothes to be dragged out of the Underdark."

"True. I seem to recall you don't have much love for Luskan either, Sand."

"Ahem, as I was saying," Sand resumed, smoothing his ruffled feathers, "you seem to have made an enemy of someone in the Host Tower of the Arcane, or perhaps even the Arcane Brotherhood itself. Most intriguing, dear girl…"

"Could Torio have Brotherhood connections?"

"You may be right, Sir Kijani. I have heard rumours about her sponsor…"

"And what makes _you_ such a tluinin' expert on Luskan, knight?" Bishop barked.

_Ooh, he's jealous,_ Carianna secretly preened.

"My lord knows quite a few things, Bishop," she decided to stir the green-glowing embers.

"I've killed enough of them to be somewhat familiar. Does my squire know what those tattoos of yours mean, ranger?"

"She's got tattoos of her own," he deflected.

"Then let's keep a civil tongue," Carianna covered, not quite trusting Bishop's mood.

"So what is the plan Kijani?" Casavir finally asked, being pragmatic as always.

"I'm not your leader in this, Casavir."

"True. You have not been a leader since the war."

"As you haven't had a mentor since the war," Kijani countered.

Casavir seemed to deflate, eyebrows forming a black scowl above his piercing blue eyes. "At least we have that tragedy in common Kijani."

"Indeed. So, squire, as my old friend Casavir so rightly asked, what's the plan?"

"If I may?" Sand tried, holding up a delicate hand.

"Yes, Sand?" Carianna arched an eyebrow.

"Since I was… ah… asked ever so nicely to cooperate, and to… act as your counsel, I would suggest that we take ship for Port Llast tomorrow. The sooner we can get to Ember, the less chance your enemies have of masking or destroying any evidence they may have left behind."

"I have to agree with Sand," Kijani stated, "I'd also suggest you go see that healer now, squire."

"Healer?" Bishop grunted.

"Things got a little rough last night," Carianna smirked, enjoying the fire blazing in heated copper.

"So help me, knight, if you hurt her…"

"You'd what, ranger?" Kijani warned; his hands suddenly very close to ivory hilts wrapped in leather. "I know enough of Luskan territory that we might _not_ actually need your tracking skills once we get to Ember. However, since I have to think of Carianna's wellbeing, your eyes and ears will be the better option. Do you really wish to pursue this line of threats to its inevitable conclusion?"

"And what might that be, knight?"

"His swords in your corpse Bishop," Carianna scowled, "Now shut the hells up, you don't _own_ me!"

"Yeah?" Bishop proved argumentative.

"I'm going to bath," Carianna stated, brooking no more, "Sal, please give me a bottle of wine to keep me company."

"Duncan won't like it," Sal protested.

"Duncan won't know if you don't tell him!" she snapped, "Now give me the hrasted bottle."

"In Duncan's case, ignorance can be bliss," Sand mused cynically, sipping again from his delicate crystal goblet.

"What about the trip?" Neeshka's curiosity finally got the better of her self-preservation.

"Let someone else decide," Carianna called back on her way to the baths, dropping weapons, equipment and armour as she went.

"I would prefer to defer to either of you," Casavir declined.

"Sand?"

"Oh, if I must, good knight" Sand mock-sighed, enjoying the attention. "We obviously need my vast skills, and for some obscure reason the surly ranger should come along too."

"Hey, watch you don't get an arrow in the back, Sand," Bishop prickled.

"Some sharp blades may also be welcome. Even as extensive as _my_ spells are, they cannot always be enough all the time."

"If you ever stop talking long enough to cast a cantrip that is…" Qara fumed to herself.

"Good!" Khelgar slurred, "If there's a fight I'm there."

"If there's ale or food you're there too, Stumpy," Neeshka countered.

"As much as I admire your endless stamina for fighting and ale, dwarf" Sand grudgingly conceded, "I was rather hoping Sir Kijani would deem to join us?"

"He is probably the best fighter here," Casavir seconded, showing reluctance to go on any extended foray involving the ranger.

"Then with me along we'll be ready," Neeshka almost squeaked in excitement.

"Better watch your money pouches then," Khelgar sulked, motioning for Sal to refill his tankard.

"We'll leave at first light then," Kijani agreed, turning to leave. He did not miss the fact that Bishop had stalked off in the direction his squire had left for earlier.

* * *

"Ah, there you are," Bishop smiled as he sauntered into the bathhouse.

"As if I were lost?" Carianna smirked, ducking a little deeper into the steaming water.

Bishop craned his neck slightly then saw her watching and caught himself. "So what's the deal with you and that tluinin' knight then?"

"Enjoying the view?" she laughed then teased maliciously, "Are you perhaps jealous, lover?"

"No," he lied.

"I thought you never lay with a woman more than once?"

"Yeah, but technically it was all only _one_ night. It's not my fault your 'friend', Martin, interrupted us."

"Good," she smiled cruelly, rising up out of the water like some deadly phoenix, "Hand me a towel then."

Bishop noticed the spectacular bruise between her ample breasts, but said nothing as Carianna nonchalantly wrapped the black cascades of her hair in the towel, then held her hand out for another one.

"I told you," she smiled, "things got a little rough."

"It's a good thing you like it rough then," he granted her, as she wrapped herself in the second towel.

"Then I'm glad I have your permission," she mocked, "Now if you wanted nothing else, I'd like to be alone with Duncan's bottle of wine now."

Bishop's copper eyes hardened as he turned to leave.


	3. Embers at Ember

_Author's Note_: Please note that some of the material you are about to read is definitely rated as **Mature Adult** for scenes of violence, sexuality, prejudice, nudity and strong language. You should be 18 years old or older before continuing on, as explicit adult themes are explored. Please do NOT continue if any of these make you uncomfortable. There are graphic and descriptive scenes in this narrative.

**Shadow Knight**

_Embers at Ember_

Port Llast, the Sword Coast  
_17 Eleasias, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

"Ah, and here we are in the _illustrious_ Port Llast," Sand informed them as they stepped onto the docks, "Watch where you step though—you might get some of the local culture on your boots."

"Gods Sand," Neeshka protested, "you hold your nose so high it's a wonder you don't wear your hat on it."

To his credit, Sand managed to look genuinely confused.

"I am not sure I know what you mean, dear tiefling. I _am_ sure as far as the _local_ expressions go, 'tis quite quant, if charmingly ignorant."

"The sooner we're out of this _stinkhole,_ the better" Carianna griped, "What now?"

"We should find Haeromos as quickly as we can," Kijani offered, "He's the only one that can grant us unrestricted access to Ember."

"Askin' some of the locals can't hurt Cari's case either," Bishop snorted.

"Agreed," Sand sniffed, then winced as if he did not much care for the smell, "They may have seen something and as long as we use _simple_ words, we may be able to get some information out of them."

Despite himself, Kijani guffawed at that. "By the Master's five arms, Sand, no wonder the Host Tower threw you out."

"Oh, I left on my _own_ volition," Sand smiled back, "They just happened to have _agreed_ with my decision at the time."

"Let's have a look around then," Carianna suggested her foul mood obvious.

* * *

A beach and inlet emptied into the small bay sheltered by a high, rocky spit. Cliffs overlooked the docks and the keen of eye—or military trained—could spot the siege engines placed to defend the port. The harbour was home to a fishing fleet of about a dozen or so boats. Two of the ships were in very poor repair and were currently beached. The cutter they had made the trip from Neverwinter in, was the only other ship currently in port.

As they wound their way up the steep trail, the settlement of Port Llast gradually came into view. It was obviously a town of skilled stonecutters and masons, as almost all the buildings were constructed with some form of masonry. The stonecutters worked at quarries on the coastal headlands just south of the village. The party sensed it was a tense, suspicious place, always expecting treachery or attack from Luskan. The massacre they were there to investigate could only have enhanced this inherent distrust.

Haeromos Dothwintyl's office was an imposing stone structure, much like a barracks, but with the First Captain's residence on the second storey. This was also where he would entertain important guests, preferring them to sleep in his guest rooms rather than at the Alliance Arms, the town's only inn. Two guards flanked the front door, but saluted sharply as they recognised Kijani's standard, the cloak of a Neveren knight. Since it was granted as a symbol of knighthood, it was also a symbol of prestige, worn by all knights when on official Neverwinter business.

* * *

The First Captain was a retired stonemason and the current ruler of Port Llast. He carried himself with pride, wearing only the finest clothing under impressive scale mail. The broadsword scabbarded at his hip spoke of his money and power, and his willingness to spend either to achieve what he set his sights on. Right then he looked very much in the mood to use it on those standing before him.

"I am surprised you have the courage to show your face here. A lot of people had friends and family in Ember," Haeromos seethed, "If it were not for the company you keep, I would have had you detained rather than admitting you an audience. As it is, if they," he jerked his head in the direction of the front door, indicating those outside his office, "find out who you are…"

"Anyone who interferes with me _is_ going to regret it," Carianna dismissed his caution with a threat of her own.

"Is that so?" he barked, his anger rising, "And just how did the people of Ember _interfere_ with you?"

"My squire didn't mean it that way," Kijani quickly soothed, "Haeromos, old friend, you know better than most that in the end I always stand for justice."

"Aye, it was a sad day indeed when Aribeth betrayed us," the older man agreed, "but even sadder when Nasher also did. I am glad you remained behind to remind him of that. Very well," he addressed Carianna, "you are free to conduct your business here, but you will be watched. If you have questions, ask them now. I am a busy man."

Kijani nodded at Carianna in encouragement, but his thin lips warned her to tread carefully.

"What happened at Ember?" she asked the obvious question.

The Captain's face was grim, but his broad, sagging shoulders told of his sorrow. "Innocents slaughtered or burned, the village burned to the ground—all apparently deeds committed by you. My only regret is that Ember falls under Luskan jurisdiction, not mine."

"For the last time, it wasn't me."

"So you keep insisting. There is a witness who says otherwise though."

"Someone survived then," Sand mused softly then spoke up, "I want to talk to this… I mean… _we_ would like to talk to this person."

"Out of the question," Haeromos declined, "She has been through enough, and besides, you won't like what she has to say."

"Fine," Carianna bluffed, "I'm sure Lord Nasher will be _happy_ when he hears how uncooperative you've been with his most trusted servant."

"Most trusted servant?" Sand choked, allowing Bishop the opportunity to whack him solidly on the back. Sand nearly crumpled, throwing the ranger a pained look.

"You're welcome," Bishop mouthed, grinning like a wolf.

"Contrary to what you may think, 'squire', Lord Nasher does _not_ dictate to me how to run my town. And if you are under the misguided impression that being his 'most trusted servant' grants you any bargaining rights, you are sadly mistaken girl. I am merely doing your Lord Nasher a favour by not having you executed on sight. Or worse…"

"Haeromos please," Kijani pleaded, "Lord Nasher, and for once I support his view, is of the opinion that what happened in Ember is nothing more than a Luskan plot. I give you my word."

"Humph. Your word used to mean a lot more to me in the old days," the Captain admitted, "Forgive me if seeing what company you keep nowadays, makes me wonder."

Kijani nodded, silently. It was the truth. In the 'old days' he had been a hero, had followed the Hero.

_Just who am I following now?_

"However, if Luskan is involved, you should investigate all avenues. You _have_ made your point."

Kijani relaxed visibly, hands straying from the ivory hilts of his swords. Not for the first time did he wonder why he was so protective of the young assassin.

_Is it the injustice, like with Aribeth? Am I here to help even the odds?_

"Bring the girl here," Haeromos commanded, "Swiftly."

* * *

"Oh, look, it's one of the sheep from Ember," Bishop scorned, as the guard opened the door and motioned for the bedraggled girl to enter the office.

Alaine must have recognized his voice, for the expression on her face spoke first of hope, then of utter despair as she spotted Carianna.

"You!"

"Alaine?" Carianna asked, not sure if the miserable creature before her was indeed the same girl they had met scant tendays before.

"Haeromos, it's… it's _her._ Why would you allow her in here?"

"I may be responsible for many things, but Ember definitely isn't one of them."

"Liar! I _saw_ you murder those people."

"No, Alaine, that's not true…"

"I _know_ what I saw. They had no weapons… some even surrendered, but you… you…"

"This is a waste of time," Carianna conceded, infuriated at admitting defeat, "She can't help us."

"Patience, squire," Kijani admonished, taking the knightly cloak from his shoulders and wrapping the terrified and distraught girl in it, "Can't you see she's lost family? Gods, show some sympathy!"

"I know you," Alaine mused, trying to call to mind an old but familiar face, "You're that bounty hunter, the one who saved Shaldrissa."

"Aye, though I never did see any of the ransom Haeromos promised me would be with that half-orc who'd kidnapped her."

"Humph. Are you still going on about that?" the Captain snorted.

"Well, Haeromos, I'll call it even if you pour the girl, Alaine was it?"

Alaine nodded.

"Alaine and me some of that port you keep hidden in your desk drawer. Perhaps once fortified and more comfortable, she can tell us what happened in Ember."

"Well if it will help you forget about the bounty you insist I still owe you…" Haeromos griped.

The First Captain produced three enamelled tin mugs, the kind used by soldiers and adventurers all across Faerûn. He then removed a glass bottle from his desk, unstoppered the cork and poured a healthy amount of liquid into each. He grunted as Kijani took the fullest two mugs, giving one to Alaine, and decided to add some more port to his own for good measure. Kijani used the distraction to appropriate the Captain's chair, offering it to Alaine to sit on.

"Thank you," Alaine smiled meekly, sitting down and wrapping his cloak tighter around her shoulders.

Kijani took a healthy swig from his mug, then clearing some space on Haeromos' desk sat down and asked, "So, Alaine, tell us what happened. Start from the beginning, please."

Alaine steadied herself, as if before plunging into icy water from some great height. "It was trade season, but the shipments into Ember had fallen off… I decided to trade along the South Roads."

"Go on…"

"When I came back to Ember, I heard the screams and saw the smoke," she took a small sip from her mug before going on, "I left my wagon and went into town. That's when I saw the bodies…"

"What else, Alaine?"

"I saw her kill the quartermaster while he was on his knees," her voice broke, then steadied slightly as tears started running freely down her cheeks, "He was begging for his life."

"You saw this woman, here, do the killing blow?" Sand asked, suddenly quite animated, "And was it just her? And where did she…"

"Sand!" Kijani hissed.

"Much as I can appreciate your technique here, good Sir, we do not have all year," the elf voiced his frustration, "nor do I have the patience when the trail of these killers grows colder by the moment."

"There were others," Alaine responded, taking a bigger sip from her mug, "but I didn't see them closely. I ran as hard as I could to Port Llast. And they took me in."

"As any decent person would," Haeromos soothed, refilling his mug.

Alaine turned to Carianna, steeling herself for her next pronouncement. "But you _did_ do it."

"Or someone that looked the part," Sand challenged, "There are _many_ magics that can cloak one's appearance… some even allow one to change shape."

"I know what I saw," she declared coldly.

"Don't you think it's a possibility that it was someone else, disguised as her?" Kijani posed, offering her some more of Haeromos' port before the First Captain could object.

Alaine waved it off. "I… suppose it's possible, but… I don't know. I just don't know."

"Then you're a hrasted fool." Bishop stated, disgust showing clearly on his face.

"Fine," she retaliated, "Are you going to call me a sheep again too?"

"How'd you manage to get away if you got close enough to identify me?" Carianna asked, thinking of all her previous victims. None of _them_ had ever escaped her deadly blades.

"I… don't know. I just started running. I guess they didn't notice me."

"You were lucky, hmm?" Sand mocked fleetingly before getting serious, "Or perhaps, they _let_ you escape?"

"Who else was there besides me? Were any of my companions there?"

"You had about a dozen of your friends with you… but, I don't recognize anyone with you now."

"A dozen, you say? Interesting," Sand pressed, "Do go on."

"So you didn't see a dwarf?" Carianna seized upon the opening, "A gnome perhaps? Or how about a half-demon girl?"

"Well… no," Alaine blinked, "I believe they were all human."

"Well, considering that those two… and the gnome… account for at least half of us," the elf deliberated, "that might seed some doubt."

"Wow," Neeshka erupted, surprised, "Maybe my demonic heritage will actually help us get out of this."

"But, you could just have hired others," Alaine reasoned, though no longer so thoroughly convinced.

"Yes, my dear…" Sand gave voice to her doubt, "but as your hesitation suggests, why would anyone do that, when they have trusted allies. Allies who would follow one anywhere, despite their common sense? Eh… no offence."

"Sometimes, you're a little too smart for your own good, elf," Bishop growled.

"Sand makes a good point though," Carianna considered thoughtfully, "I don't think I have anymore questions for you."

"I'm sorry to have put you through this, Alaine," Kijani calmed her once more, "Guard, please see that she reaches her quarters safely."

Alaine stood up, numbly giving Kijani back his cloak. "Thanks for your kindness," she mumbled as the guard led her back.

When Kijani turned around, Sand was animatedly explaining something to Carianna. "Listen to me… if we can get her to work for us, her story of tears will sway the court in our favour."

"You can't be serious Sand?"

"Sir Kijani, surely you can see that if we do not use her, the Luskans will. And they will use her testimony to kill your squire, here."

"I don't know Sand; killing's one thing, but getting yet another person killed because of me…" Carianna balked, despite her overwhelming urge for self-preservation.

"Please, dispense with your convenient morality, girl. Either _we_ use her, or _they_ do."

"Fine. If I can find a way to use her, I will. If she dies as a result, so be it."

"Whatever it takes, eh?" Kijani put to them, "Perhaps when you and Sand are done stepping all over the little people to get what you want, you'll remind yourselves what you were fighting for in the first place."

* * *

"You there. Stop right where you are," the mousey-blonde guard had ordered. Bishop noticed that she was slightly unsteady on her feet as if she might have been drinking.

Once outside Haeromos' office, they had spoken with the local smith, a stout dwarf named Haljal Throndor. He had been a miner north of Mirabar in his early life, but the awful cave-in that had crushed his right leg and arm, followed closely by an almost-lethal disease, had forced him to retire. He sometimes longed for the mines, but was mostly content running his open-air smithy. On his advice, they had approached the Alliance Arms—to hopefully find and talk to the town braggart, one Elgun—when they were accosted.

"What do you want?" Carianna asked rather surly. Kijani had stayed behind, talking to Haljal, making her the _de facto_ speaker for the group again.

"We've been looking for the one who butchered everyone in Ember," the guard replied, smiling grimly, "I guess we found her, eh boys?"

Three male guards had her back, one carrying a crossbow, two carrying longswords. One of the men also had a tower shield strapped to his arm. The leader had a longsword still sheathed in a scabbard strapped to her waist. The two with the swords moved to intercept Carianna's companions, while the leader stepped right in front of her.

"I didn't do it," Carianna stated simply, "Now get out of my way."

"Oh, listen to this boys," the leader mocked, looking back at her fellows, "she didn't do it." She turned back to face Carianna, green eyes flashing dangerously, "I'll tell you what you worthless bitch, we're going to arrest you now."

"Really, my dear…" Sand began.

"Of course," the leader continued, cutting off the elf, "you're going to resist arrest and then we'll be forced to _kill_ you like the dogs you are."

"What's with the animal names?" Neeshka sighed, "Just for once I'd like to be called something else you know."

"My tiefling companion is right…" Sand tried again.

"Come on, then," Carianna interrupted, drawing her katanas, "Let's see if you can do more than just _talk_ about killing me."

"Words I like to hear," Bishop growled his agreement, notching two arrows to his bow.

"You'll find we're a bit more challenging than unarmed villagers, murderer," the leader smirked, drawing steel.

They were almost evenly matched, although the male guards had a reach advantage over Sand and Neeshka who only carried daggers. Bishop's two arrows whistled through the air, but one thudded harmlessly into the tower shield, while the other was stopped by the links of chainmail the leader wore. Carianna's swords both cut for the leader's head, but she was obviously not a novice sword fighter and she parried both. Neeshka managed to duck under the blade of her adversary and scored a lucky stab into the man's neck just below his helmet. He grunted, eyes opening wide, before bright arterial blood pumped from the wound. Sand was less fortunate, as both a crossbow bolt and longsword cut into him before he could complete the arcane syllables and mystic passes to his spell.

Two more arrows streaked through the air, one piercing the hand of the crossbow wielder, the other glancing off the helmet of the man behind the shield. Neeshka's left arm snaked out, but the man's bracer deflected the blade, while Carianna's katanas clanged loudly on the leader's longsword. There was blood frothing on her lips, since the leader had pierced one of her lungs. The guard with the neck wound slowly sank to the ground as the lifeblood pumped out of his pierced artery. The guard with the crossbow decided to drop his useless weapon and drew his sword instead, favouring his hand against his chest.

Neeshka smiled disarmingly, as she feinted with her right-hand dagger, forcing the guard to bring his shield up wide and out. Bishop grunted as he made use of the opportunity to pincushion two arrows into the man's left arm. The guard slashed wildly at Neeshka with his sword—the arrow shafts now preventing him from bringing his shield in close to protect his body—and managed to score a hit on her forearm. The tiefling cried out in pain, but still plunged her left dagger into the man's face, through the eye-slit in his helmet.

It was two for two however, as Sand had collapsed from blood loss and Carianna's lithe body lay crumpled on top of her katanas in the dirt. Bishop grunted in frustration, but smiled cruelly as his arrow again found crossbow wielder's hand, pinning it to his chest. Neeshka ducked forward, her left hand useless, but slammed the pommel of her right-hand dagger into the man's other hand, forcing him to drop his sword. Without a weapon and outmatched, he turned tail and ran.

The leader was not so easily dissuaded and bore down on Bishop. She suddenly found herself contending with a wolf's muzzle scant inches from her face. Karnwyr had sensed his master's distress and had leapt for her throat, seemingly out of nowhere. Bishop made a mental note to give his companion the lion's share of whatever meat his next hunt produced. Before he could notch another arrow though, a voice rang out from behind him.

"Stay your weapon, sergeant, or face a knight of Neverwinter."

The leader looked up into the face of fury personified and to her credit brought up her sword to match Kijani's challenge. To her further credit, she blocked two of his seven blows. Tymora was on her side in that only one drew blood; Kijani had once again managed to turn his blades at the last moment, slapping them sharply against her vulnerable thighs and arms. A nasty red gash now decorated her forehead, forever a reminder of this day.

"Do you yield your bloodlust, sergeant?" Kijani asked, swords held loosely at his sides.

"Aye," the leader admitted, "though I have avenged Ember."

_Like hells you have bitch,_ Bishop thought as he raced to Carianna's side, pulling the cork from the potion bottle with his teeth.

He roughly rolled her over, pulling at her shoulder with one hand, and then poured the bluish liquid into her slack mouth. The bubbles of blood on her lips evaporated as the potion made contact with them, but she was not swallowing.

"Swallow, hrast you!" Bishop shouted, gently rubbing her throat.

Carianna swallowed, then coughed, eyes flying open, then coughed up blood.

"Drink it!"

She obeyed, gaining colour rapidly then punched Bishop in the face.

"What the tluin was that for?" Bishop moaned, gingerly touching his broken nose.

"'Tis her time under the moon, ranger," Sand coughed, sitting up with Neeshka's help.

"Her what?"

"Fortunately for you, we're not pregnant, Bishop," Carianna spat cruelly.

"So?" the ranger sat back flabbergasted, "I just saved your tluinin' life Cari."

"Thanks," she mocked, "Next time, rather let me die."

"What in the hells?"

"Thanks to your healing potion, lover," she groaned, "I'll be bleeding for another tenday."

"What?" he repeated.

"Remind me to give you a lesson in alchemy when we make camp, Bishop," Sand chuckled, shaking his head, "More to the point, what effects a healing brew has on a woman at certain times of the month."

"Oh… naeth…" Bishop sighed, all manner of realities suddenly dawning on him.

Carianna looked ready to punch him again.

* * *

Ember, the Sword Coast  
_20 Eleasias, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

"By the gods… these villagers," Carianna gasped, horrified by the death around her, "They were cut down like…"

"It's efficient," Bishop stated clinically, his ranger's eyes picking out clues from the layout of the massacre. "Whoever did this; they took care to secure the perimeter first, then moved in… Look, you can tell from the position of the corpses."

"Efficient?" Carianna balked, eyeing him with horror, "I look at these people and see only senseless death… Who could've done this?"

"Wouldn't put it past the tluinin' Luskans," he replied disdainfully, rubbing at his nose.

Although he had swallowed a healing potion soon after her attack, the break had knitted crookedly. Carianna's feature softened as she realised it would have to be broken again before further healing could straighten it.

"I'm sorry, Bishop," she offered, "How's the nose?"

"I'll live," he smirked, before blowing her a lewd kiss.

"So, 'the tluinin' Luskans'?" she mused, smiling secretly.

"They usually don't bother tryin' to place blame elsewhere," he elaborated, "so they probably made some mistakes."

"None of them have weapons in their hands… There wasn't even a fight. How could the Luskans have made mistakes?"

"My dear… it _was_ a massacre," Sand said softly before urging firmly, "As much as I hate to admit it, the ranger is right though. So come, let us see what we can find."

"There was no battle here," Kijani agreed coldly, "only slaughter."

* * *

Neverwinter  
_The Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)_

Unfortunately, Kijani _had_ seen spoilage of human life like that before. When the Hero had returned to Neverwinter, after seeking out the so-called Word Stones, death and destruction had been waiting for them in the streets. The combined forces of Luskan, King Obould Many-Arrow's orcs, some defiant Elk Tribe barbarians and the giants, golems and dragons Maugrim had marshalled to his banner, had destroyed most of Neverwinter. Led by Lady Aribeth de Tylmarande—or Aribeth the Betrayer as she became known in later years—they had managed to circumvent most of Neverwinter's defences. They had laid waste to the Docks District, Blacklake and the Beggar's Nest and had been besieging the Merchant District for tendays.

Corpses had been everywhere, some still from months before as the Wailing Death had proven too much for the Watch, swamped as they were under the sheer amount of the dead. Some were obviously newer, bearing the marks of violent deaths, some burned almost beyond recognition. Others—mostly female—were naked, the victims of rape, and lay about like miserable rag-dolls, discarded after serving their horrible purpose. Some were crucified; others impaled on pikes or hanged from the handy crossbeams most signboards usually hung from. The stench had been almost overwhelming and often new recruits would suddenly bend over to lose their meagre Greycloak or City Watch rations.

The men—led by no less than two of the Nine—sent to meet and escort the Hero to Lord Nasher's war room had been of sterner stock. Despite their deeds, they had made a less than triumphant return to the city they had saved once already. It had been in that war room, with all of the Nine in attendance, and with a platoon of Lord Nasher's palace guard as backup, that Kijani had been arrested for treason against the Lords' Alliance. The Hero had protested such treachery, but had been powerless against the Lord and the laws of Neverwinter he wielded so skilfully. The Hero could do nothing else but go out and fight injustice outside of Castle Never.

While in the dungeon, reports still reached Kijani's ears daily of the further exploits of his hero and the other companions. He had been saddened, but ultimately relieved to hear about the death of the monk of the Long Death. He had died, valiantly fighting two almost indestructible Luskan war golems so that the Hero and the others could find and destroy the Luskan wizards responsible for controlling their rampage. He had been surprised and happy when the halfling thief had snuck into his cell one night, giving him a duplicate key with a mischievous, "For when you really need it, aye?"

About two tendays later, the cell next to his had also gained an occupant. He could tell that the elven woman had once been breathlessly beautiful. The dark plate she had worn and the pain behind her haunted eyes had merely served to make her seem a little more mortal. Mortal enough that they had started conversing, hesitantly at first, sharing brief words when no guards were near. As the days and tendays had passed, they had talked more, sharing words of hope and love. His words had been bolder later when it became clear that she did not intend to escape her cell or her possible doom. Kijani had even found out that her cell door had never been locked, but she would not be swayed. Since he had decided to stay rather than be separated from her, this had mercifully allowed them to consummate their love. After, he had again urged her, pleaded with her to leave Neverwinter with him. He had only given up when early one morning a contingent of palace guard had come for him. He was to appear before Lord Nasher again and had been sure his fate had finally been sealed.

Lord Nasher had been desperate. Despite Aribeth's surrender and arrest and despite the death of Maugrim at the Hero's hand, the Luskan war machine had still been unstoppable. Like some beastly juggernaut, even with two heads removed, others had sprung up in their place and it continued to roll over Neverwinter's forces. Lord Nasher had needed skilled fighting men to lead his remaining forces. The Hero had disappeared into the bowels of Castle Never and had not been seen since. According to Aarin Gend, Lord Nasher's spymaster at the time, the Hero had found the source of Luskan's almost demonic ferocity and, if successful, it would soon have meant that they could turn the tide of the war. It would prove to be almost three more tendays of desperate guerrilla warfare in the destroyed city before Luskan had routed. His thoughts had always been with his love, even right to the end. A triumphant Lord Nasher had magnanimously knighted Kijani for his efforts, but it meant nothing to him having lost his hero and his love.

* * *

Duskwood, the Sword Coast  
_23 Eleasias, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

"I'm glad you're trustin' me again Cari," Bishop growled softly, hugging her tightly, almost possessively.

They had only spent a few bells in Ember, collecting evidence at Sand's behest. Kijani had then surprised them all, including the elf, when he produced a tiny mithral figurine. At a spoken command word, it had turned into a dwarf-sized golem. In a short time, it had dug enough graves to bury all the dead of Ember. During the grave digging Kijani had sprinkled some herbs on the corpses. Sand had sniffed once and proclaimed it as wyrmsage, an herb that had some properties to stave off undeath. The golem had then tenderly carried each corpse to a grave and buried it. Once this task had been done, it had turned back into the tiny figurine, which Kijani had pocketed before they had all proceeded down the Ember well.

Inside the well, they had found the seer child, Marcus, who had left them with two cryptic clues before departing for the safety of Port Llast. Following the first clue, they had spent two whole days in the company of a small band of goblins in the caverns under Ember and Duskwood. It had not proven useless, as Sand was now in possession of a second ring of the Circle of Blades' assassins. Whoever had sent the assassins after Carianna at Solace Glade had also likely ordered the attack on Ember. Following Marcus' second clue, they were now camped just inside the eaves of Duskwood.

"I _do_ trust you, Bishop, believe it or not," she whispered, relaxing into his arms.

Kijani and Sand were off somewhere, planning the next day's search of Duskwood. Neeshka was on watch, more likely than not rummaging through anything not guarded by spells or steel. When confronted about it previously she had simply whisked her tail, given a sly half-grin and stated that she needed to keep in practice. Kijani did not seem to possess much more than his swords and equipment and the others were used to her intrusions by then, so had accepted her invasions into their privacy without too much fussing about it. All gold was shared equally anyway, but even so, those purse strings firmly rested in a secret pocket inside Carianna's leathers.

"You know, so many people just judge me," he droned into her hair. It smelled like steel somehow, and it was enticing. He nuzzled in closer. "But you don't. I could get to like that."

"I could get to like you touching me like this," she breathed, pressing up against him.

"What? No pain, no claws?"

"You didn't ask about those."

"I'm askin' now," Bishop looked into her eyes, trying to steal her thoughts. His eyes drank in her naked form, as she reposed next to him.

"What if I said yes to both?" Carianna challenged.

"I'd be a hrasted fool not to grant or appreciate both."

"Then don't be a fool."

He accepted the challenge with a growl, pushing her down onto her back on the bedroll, enjoying how her black hair fanned out above her head.

"Well? You seem eager to get me on my back…" she whispered, arching an eyebrow.

Bishop smothered any further doubts with a firm kiss, leaving her suddenly breathless, almost for the first time.

Carianna lay back, panting, and wound her arms around his neck, "Is that all you've got, lover?"

He did not allow her to recover much, as he nuzzled her neck, trailing a blaze of kisses down the slope of her left breast, igniting the nipple. "Does that suit you better my black rose?"

She moaned and arched against him, aching for his lips, her loins suddenly afire. "Yes, yes, very much so."

He chuckled as he denied her, moving even lower to lick at the depression of her bellybutton. White light sparkled on his tongue as the diamond there caught the firelight.

"Hmmm," Bishop growled in appreciation, like a hunting cat.

She whimpered softly and writhed beneath him, her hands clutching the blanket tightly.

"Tell me what you want next Cari," he asked, looking up at her through the valley of her breasts.

"I'd rather show you," Carianna sighed wistfully, pushing him farther down her body.

Bishop grinned to himself, resisted her directions, and moved back up to her right breast, enveloping the areola in the warm wetness of his mouth. "There'll be time for that later, but for now I'm huntin'."

"You've already got your prey, Bishop."

"Perhaps," he conceded, "But, I'm not one to go in for the kill that quickly. _You_ should know that by now."

Carianna groaned in frustration, but then she smiled. It was going to be different this time and a small part of her welcomed that. Then it all went to the hells as he grabbed hold of her hands, pinning them above the halo of her hair. He slapped her, as she resisted his rough parting of her legs. Carianna grunted, a knee scraping off his groin as her head came up and broke his nose a second time that tenday.

"What the tluin…" he bellowed, lashing out in pain and slapping her across the face in earnest this time. "I thought…"

"Not like that, Bishop! Never like that!"

To emphasise her point, cold steel touched the side of his neck and another cold tip seemed to want to slide into a kidney.

"I know my squire sometimes likes it rough," Kijani hissed in his ear, "but she's no defenceless Luskan maid to be ravaged, ranger."

"This is none of your concern, knight." Bishop snarled, despite the blades threatening to spill his life on Duskwood soil.

"I would listen to reason, Bishop," Sand breathed, arcane energy bristling from his fingertips, "I would hate to see that gravedigger golem of his in action again."

"Then let Cari say it," the ranger appealed, confusion knotting his brows.

"Please," Carianna asked flatly, "don't hurt him further. But keep him away from me for now."

"Come away, ranger," Kijani soothed, sheathing his blades, "Cari'll share with us the reasons for what's transpired here tonight when she's good and ready. I don't think tonight's that night though."

Defeated, Bishop got up, holding a bloody nose as he grabbed for his tunic. "I can't believe you broke my tluinin' nose again, Rose."

"Look at me," Kijani urged as Sand handed him a bottle of bluish liquid.

Bishop stood to face him as Carianna covered herself with a blanket.

"This is going to hurt you more than me I'm afraid," Kijani grinned then with a snap straightened the ranger's crooked nose.

Bishop roared in pain, but restrained himself and tossed back the healing draught. "At least it's not goin' to be skew as a dockside slapthighs' this time," he grimaced.

Pain flared behind Carianna's eyes as she whispered, "I'm sorry lover. It won't happen again."

"Then let us get some rest," Sand suggested as the ranger stalked off to go and kill something.

* * *

Duskwood, the Sword Coast  
_24 Eleasias, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

"How went the hunt, Bishop?" Sand enquired as the ranger slunk into camp carrying nothing.

"Don't you ever _sleep_ elf?"

"I would have thought a ranger would be more familiar with elven physiology."

"Well, if you want to get technical Sand, don't you ever reverie then?"

"Oh, I did, but since I did not need to prepare any spells for today, my reverie was rather short."

"The mighty Sand without spells?" Bishop considered sarcastically.

"Duskwood is a dead magic area, Bishop. Surely that is something you must have experienced before, whilst roaming this part of the countryside with… ahem… your erstwhile acquaintance."

"You mean Malin?"

"Ah, yes, the half-elf slip of a ranger. Or did the two of you never need to use any of your limited spells?"

"Not that it matters, but no," Bishop snorted, "And to answer your first question, the hunt went very well, even if I didn't get to put an arrow in _your_ back."

"Shall we wake the others and tell them the joyous news then?"

"It's still a couple of candles before dawn, are you willin' to risk their ire?"

"Well your find must be of some importance. You do not often look so smugly self-satisfied."

"If it'll mean your curiosity remains unsatisfied for that much longer, then lettin' 'em sleep sounds doubly good to me."

"Oh, have it your way," Sand sighed, "Now that you are back in camp, I can set the wards. Oh, and no need to trouble yourself with a watch either. Since I am awake, I may as well stand guard for another candle or two."

"I thought you said you haven't prepared any spells for today?"

"Oh, never take a wizard at his word when it comes to magic, Bishop," Sand smiled enigmatically, "I didn't say I had used up all my spells for yesterday, now did I?"

"I guess you didn't," Bishop grunted as he strolled to where his bedroll had been moved.

* * *

"So this Lyssa mistook you for one of the Luskan assassins that attacked Ember?" Kijani asked, having a sip of his morning kaeth.

"Yeah," Bishop responded, "She then warned me to remind Lorne of their deal and told me to leave."

Carianna visibly paled, but masked it by asking, "What deal?"

"And who is Lorne?" Neeshka asked then turned to Kijani, "How can you _drink_ that… fireswallow?"

"Been through my belongings again, Neeshka?"

"Well… I…"

"Where I was born we drink it every day," he grinned, "but the Durpari beans are not as strong, small, or dark as these. I have developed a liking for the _qahwa_ of the Bedine even if it is less easily acquired and more expensive."

"The privileges of knighthood," Sand accused lightly.

"One of the few I enjoy, yes," the knight smiled as he emptied his kavvar, rinsed it, and started packing his meagre belongings away. "I think you should lead us to this Lyssa, Bishop."

* * *

"I see you received my message Lorne," the dryad greeted them, "Now where is the Glowstone? Why have you not held up your end of the bargain?"

"Yes, Lorne," Sand winked at Carianna, "have you forgotten your bargain?"

"Remind me about our bargain," she bluffed, sensing Sand's intent, "I seem to have forgotten."

"You… forgot. How could…" Lyssa started then smiled a secret, evil smile, "Oh, I _see._ You are the one I disguised him as. And this woodsman here," she pointed at Bishop, "is _your_ lackey not Lorne's; even if they do share the same tattoo."

"They do?" Carianna enquired, somewhat aghast.

"They would," both Sand and Kijani confirmed simultaneously.

"You're one of them?" Carianna railed at the ranger.

"Are _you_ goin' to judge me now?" Bishop countered.

"You could've told me. Before now…"

"It's a long time ago. It doesn't matter anymore."

"Did you know this Lorne?"

"I've never heard that name until last night, when I spoke to her."

"So how _did_ you disguise Lorne?" she asked, turning again to address the dryad.

"Alteration powder," Lyssa smiled as if it was a delicious joke, "a gift from a former… guest you could say."

"It allows you to appear as whomever you wish, for a time," Sand informed them.

"Why'd you do this?" Carianna asked.

"Lorne and his men stopped nearby before heading on to the village. From my tree, I spied on their conversation. Can you believe the fool was simply going to rush in and kill everyone, and yet somehow blame you? I appeared and offered my help in the matter."

"But why?"

"Look around you. Can you not _see_ the stumps of the Duskwood trees? The villagers ignored me and harvested the trees again and again, taking far more than necessary. It was an opportunity for vengeance."

"Vengeance?" Carianna spat, her hands slipping to the hilts of her katanas.

"You dare threaten me in _my_ grove, _my_ home?"

"You deserve a lot worse for what you've helped do to Ember."

"Creatures of the Grove, aid me!" Lyssa called, lashing out with a branchlike claw.

Even with the help of her corrupted minions—a dire bear, dire boar, dire wolf and two dire badgers—the fight was as short as it was violent. With a piercing scream, Lyssa collapsed, a small satchel slipping from her lifeless hand. Before their eyes, the giant Duskwood tree behind the dryad seemed to rot away as the trunk split and branches, dry and brittle fell to the ground.

"If I may?" Sand requested, as he stooped to retrieve the satchel. He reached inside then withdrew his hand, his fingers shimmering and losing shape. "This powder by itself would not be enough… there are many magics that can change appearance. But I think we have found all the clues we can to make our case."

"Then let's take what we have to Nevalle—and deal with these Luskan accusations once and for all," Kijani urged.

"We should be able to find him in Castle Never," Sand agreed, handing the satchel to Carianna, "no doubt anxiously awaiting our return like a fretful hen."

"An interesting way of putting it," the knight grinned.

Sand smiled. "You will find that you are not the only thorn in the Neverwintian nobles' sides, my good knight."

"Glad to hear it, Sand," Kijani laughed as they set off for Port Llast and their trip back to Neverwinter and an awaiting trial.


	4. A Haunt of Memories

_Author's Note_: Please note that some of the material you are about to read is definitely rated as **Mature Adult** for scenes of violence and prejudice. You should be 18 years old or older before continuing on, as explicit adult themes are explored. Please do NOT continue if any of these make you uncomfortable. There are graphic and descriptive scenes in this narrative.

**Shadow Knight**

_A Haunt of Memories_

Merchant Quarter, Neverwinter  
_1 Eleint, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

After Bishop had left, Carianna could not sleep again. She had told him as much as she herself could stomach and he could not take even that. It had made him panic and she had lost him. She somehow knew that he would not be back.

_Oh, gods!_ she thought morosely, _Why in the hells is my life always so screwed up?_

They had lost the trial. That conniving minx Torio had turned every scrap of evidence they had spent two tendays gathering to naught, had turned every witness against them. If it had not been for some obscure lore, some trial by combat, which Sand had known about she would have been in irons right now, on her way to a lengthy torture and swift but very public execution in Luskan.

So lost in her dark thoughts was she that she did not even hear the heavy door scrape along the floor as it opened once more. She sat with her arms wrapped around her knees until a firm hand squeezed her shoulder. She lashed out instinctively, but another hand caught her wrist, bringing it up as Kijani pulled her up into an embrace. The mithral of his breastplate was neither cool nor warm to the touch, but she shivered in his arms nonetheless. The knight gently stroked her hair as she started to cry once more.

"Cari, tell me everything."

She shuddered, but found herself telling him everything. He held her fast as she told him about Bevil, about the Mossfelds and about how they had beaten her lover until he was lying senseless on the floor in a pool of his own blood and waste. She told him about Lorne and how he had forced her to watch and when they had finished had commanded the Mossfelds to leave. She had tried to resist him, but he had beaten her into submission and had raped her. He listened as she cried and whimpered, reliving that night, lying naked on the wooden floor, until Lorne would have need of her again and beat her again or rape her again. Finally, just after dawn he had left, leaving her whimpering and curled up in a dark corner and Bevil hardly breathing in the other room. That was how Retta Starling had found her and had rushed off to find Brother Merring. She had still been lying like that when Daeghun had come in later, cast a sleep spell on her, and had scooped her up in a blanket. She had awoken three days later in her own bed.

"It'll be all right, Cari," is all that he said as he continued to hold her tight.

She burst out in fresh tears and sniffled, smiled and laughed self-consciously as he offered her a dainty silken handkerchief to wipe her running nose with.

"I can't say it really suits you, Sir," she grinned with tears still rimming her red and swollen eyes, handing him back the sodden rag.

"You may keep it, squire," he smiled back at her, a glint of mischief in his hazel eyes, "since it doesn't seem to suit _your_ sense of knightly fashion."

"I thank you, Kijani," she murmured, knowing he would understand.

"So, what then of Lorne?" he enquired, looking down into her upturned face.

When Sand had invoked the trial by combat, Torio had smiled slyly as she had wailed in her simpering voice about the unfairness of Neveren justice. She had begged and pleaded for a champion and of course, Lorne, the real slayer of Ember, had come forward to champion the slain. He was to meet Carianna after sunrise that morning on the field of battle, where the outcome would supposedly show Tyr's final decision in the matter. Kijani doubted it would be as simple, as he had seen his squire's reaction to the hulk of a man during the aftermath of the trial. She would fight him, but with emotions raw and long buried memories dredged up to be used against her, she would lose and die.

"I'll kill him if I can," she gritted her teeth, her half-smile vanishing like a clumsy illusion.

"Then you'll die trying, squire."

"And none would mourn my passing," she added morosely, "for I'm the Slayer of Ember now."

"That's not true."

"Didn't you _hear_ the verdict, handed down by Nasher himself?"

"_I_ would mourn you, Cari."

She blinked and had to swallow her next words hastily. Instead, she managed, "Would you also put roses on my grave? Black ones?"

"Don't be a fool, squire!" he exploded, shaking her so hard her teeth chattered, "You'll fight him and you'll lose and die and you'll have accomplished neither your attempt at vengeance, nor the clearing of your name."

"Do that again and I swear I'll kill you," she hissed.

"Then let the anger clear your maudlin head, _girl!_"

"And what do you suggest I do then?"

"Choose a champion to fight for you."

"I can't… I can't do that…"

"Oh, but you must, Cari," he demanded, "Although you're physically capable, mentally you're too broken to stand up to Lorne. You know it as well as I do."

"But I've already dismissed Khelgar and Bishop's offers…"

"At least you did something right."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Like you, they're both too emotionally involved," Kijani replied, then grinned, "And I suspect, as much as he's a good fighter, Khelgar would be drunk off his dwarven arse when it comes time to do battle."

"Then who do you suggest? Casavir? Qara? _You?_"

"That would possibly be your wisest choice," he smiled, looking almost eager to throw himself into battle.

"And what flowers would _you_ like on _your_ grave, Sir?"

"I told you before, squire, Augathra the Mad never predicted my death. I plan on continuing to prove that crazy witch right for some time yet."

"And why would I let you champion me?" she asked seriously, "I had very valid reasons for dismissing Bishop's offer earlier."

"Because, Cari, I'm not trying to prove anything to you. My only motivation is that I'll _not_ have Neveren injustice kill you like it killed her."

"Killed her? Who?"

"Someone I loved a long time ago."

"Kijani, tell me everything," she asked, and so he did.

* * *

Neverwinter  
_Midsummer, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)_

The day had dawned like a Calishite dancer, beautiful, sultry, and sometimes veiled. Smoke from various fires in the city still often hid the sun. The sky had been clear, with puffy clouds over the sea promising rain later that day. The crowd in front of the Hall of Justice had been vast. It had seemed that every able-bodied citizen had come to see injustice done. They had stood side-by-side, hand-in-hand, separated only by the gulf of Neverwinter.

"Love me," she had asked and in that moment he had known that he would forever.

"I will."

Their eyes had been locked, as the Reverend Judge Oleff Uskar pronounced Lord Nasher Alagondar's verdict in the case of Neverwinter versus Aribeth de Tylmarande. Her knighthood had already been stripped from her, to be given to Neverwinter's newest knight. His yellow cloak had hung limply from resigned shoulders, hands hanging next to ivory hilts. Yet, he had held his head high, if only to drink in her beauty.

"Only the young die innocent," she had proclaimed and he had had to agree.

"Yes."

The crowd had roared in agreement. Elsewhere in the crowd, a young paladin had turned away, his burnished full plate throwing rays of light at Lord Nasher, like accusing fingers. The Lord had turned to one of the Nine, and the knight had nodded. The paladin would be watched for any signs of dissent. Ophala Cheldarstorn, or one of her many noble suitors, would be leaned on to help discredit him. Certain words would reach Judge Oleff's ears concerning the ward the Tyrrans had taken in those years ago.

"Don't forget," she had commanded and he had nodded.

"I won't."

She had been serenely beautiful, even with the coarse braids of the hemp caressing her slender neck. Her eyes had been bright, looking at him, but also looking at her god. The crowd had cheered. A Lord had smiled. A man had died. A god had wept.

* * *

Merchant Quarter, Neverwinter  
_1 Eleint, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

"It'll be all right, Kijani," is all that she said as she continued to hold him tight.

"No it will not, Cari," he said, looking down at her as if she had suddenly turned into a mind flayer.

"You'll not lose me," she whispered, kissing him gently. He smelled like ivory and brokenness. "What a pair of broken blades we are, eh?"

He snorted. "Yes. Broken by our past and bruised by our present."

"You will not lose me," she repeated, "You can be my champion, my knight."

"Do you and Casavir ever speak?" he asked suddenly, throwing her off guard again.

"Do Shadow Knights ever _not_ doublespeak?" she asked in reply, "Yes, we do. I can't say I always understand him, but I like him well enough. He's like a brother to me. The brother I never had."

"He's a good man."

"What is it Sir? What's still bothering you? You're not planning on losing to Lorne are you?"

"That I shall not."

She smiled as his ego came to the fore so strongly. "Then what is it? What are you not telling me?"

"Don't let them corrupt you," he urged as he stood up quickly, breaking her embrace, "I have to prepare for the battle now, squire. Speak to Casavir when you can. Ask him about nobility."

Before she could reply, or ask what he had meant, he had stridden from the chamber. The scent of ivory and determination remained and she held it close to her, smiling softly to herself.

* * *

Tourney Grounds, Neverwinter  
_1 Eleint, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

"I remember you," the hulking brute in front of Kijani spat, "You're that uppity knight that never thought I was good enough to fight Luskans. Now I fight with 'em and I'm goin' to _enjoy_ rippin' your heart out with my bare hands."

"Ah, yes, Lorne," the knight drawled, hand on his one hip and tipping his ridiculous hat at the assassin in a mock salute. "Still chomping at the bit I see. Or is it straining at the _leash_ this time?"

"So, Rose chose you as her champion, eh? I'm goin' to enjoy takin' her _again,_ before I kill her."

"You might find her no longer a defenceless four-and-teen year old girl, _Iblith!_¹ She might take your _stones_ as a trophy and leave you barely alive, or she may just kill you, if you tried."

"So she had the guts to tell someone about that?"

"More guts than you Lorne. Is that why you made a deal with Luskan when they captured you?"

"I made a deal with Luskan because I was sick of you and that paladin!" the bear growled, "Now I _lead_ the Circle of Blades and we kill worthless knights like you for a livin'."

* * *

¹ drow:- excrement; offal; carrion; a derogatory term often used for humans

* * *

Neverwinter  
_The Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)_

After the Hero had disappeared, they had fought Luskan every day, grabbing some rest for the poor Tyrran cleric and the two Many-Starred Cloak mages in abandoned shops, in broken homes or simply in alleys or sewers. The young Tyrran paladin, Casavir, had never seemed to need any rest. Kijani had liked him, and seen the hurt in his eyes when he had told Aribeth's protégé about meeting her in Lord Nasher's cells. The young man's eyes had become even colder, his resolve even more focused than before. Wherever they went in the broken city, they had fought the Luskans to a standstill, despite overwhelming numbers stacked against them.

Then there had been the Greycloaks. Most had been raw recruits, fresh from whatever farm Lord Nasher had conscripted them from. Most at least had some form of martial weapon and ragged, if serviceable padded armour. Others, like Lorne, had had at least seen some form of militia training and had been slightly better equipped. To protect the men, Casavir and Kijani had been on the frontline most of the time. The men had understood that and most had appreciated it, using their names as a battle cry when attacking, or a rallying cry when they were forced to retreat.

Lorne had neither understood, nor appreciated it. Due to his size and battle prowess, he had been promoted to sergeant, prior to joining Kijani's platoon. His ignorance of battle tactics and constant requests for joining the frontline had made Kijani despise all Harbormen as ignorant, swamp-dwelling idiots. Chafing under his command, Lorne had disobeyed orders and had gotten his squad trapped and caught behind enemy lines. They had found the nine mutilated bodies of those under Lorne's command, but no sign of their leader. Kijani had mourned the loss of the men and women, but had secretly thanked Tempus for the loss of his sergeant.

* * *

Tourney Grounds, Neverwinter  
_1 Eleint, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

"Is the accuser, or his representative, present?" the Reverend Judge Oleff Uskar asked from the gallery.

"Yes, I'm here!" Lorne roared, pulling his falchion from its scabbard on his back. He swung it through the air a couple of times.

"Still using that big old thing, I see," Kijani grinned, "I never understood why, but now I know you're just compensating for something else."

Kijani winked at the berserker, causing Lorne to roar something unintelligible.

"Is the accused, or his representative, present?" Judge Oleff asked again.

"I'm present!" Kijani called lightly, bowing to the gallery with a flourish of his hat, the floppy white feather almost touching the red earth.

"Still usin' your little pig stickers?" Lorne sneered.

Kijani simply smiled as he placed his hat back on his head, adjusting it leisurely to the correct jaunty angle.

"Then may Tyr grant us justice today."

Roaring, Lorne charged, swinging his huge sword as easily as a boy with a wooden toy does. Kijani ducked, sweeping his left arm out to block a second swing on his bracer, drawing one ivory hilted blade with the other. Lorne grunted twice as steel streaked in to pierce his wolf-skin and the full plate beneath. He roared, bringing his falchion up-and-over for an overhead swing, but grunted mid-swing as a second short sword cut across the underside of his forearms and swung down to cut into his hip. Then both blades seemed to dance before his confused vision, one piercing his thigh, the other cutting off the ear of his wolfs-head and its wearer. To add insult to injury, a blade pierced his crotch, barely missing his vitals.

"Oh," Lorne roared, spittle foaming and flying from his mouth, "now I'm goin' to kill you and that slapthighs slowly!"

"You don't have the weapon for that," the knight laughed, his blades darting out again, into the berserker's armpit, piercing a lung, and his inner thigh, arterial blood spraying out to slick wolf fur and stain the red earth redder.

"You think you can kill me?" Lorne's face contorted, as he swung his mighty sword down on Kijani.

The knight brought up both swords, crossed, to catch the down rushing steel, but Lorne's fury was too much and the falchion cut into his face, leaving a yawning gash on his forehead. Blood dripping in his eyes, he missed the crosscut and the falchion bit into his bicep.

"Not so pretty anymore!" Lorne laughed, but blood bubbled on his lips. His next two cuts were easily deflected, before he coughed and spat blood on the ground. "I'm goin' to cut you to ribbons before I bleed out!"

Lorne frowned, as the wound on Kijani's forehead stopped bleeding then roared again, fuelling his rage.

"You'll find, I'm not so easy to scar or kill," Kijani winked, as he fended off the next two swings, subtly changing lethal slices to mere deep cuts on his thigh and forearm.

Face reddening, the berserker bull rushed, knocking the knight over. Two more deep cuts lined Kijani's body as he managed to get back up, tipping his hat at his opponent.

"Now that's the first time I've seen you do anything useful," he mocked, causing Lorne to swing wildly, but grunted as the next swing bit deeply into the side of his breastplate. "Oh, that hurt. I'll have to repair that now."

"Good," Lorne sulked, spitting up more blood, before cutting the knight across the forehead this time.

"Finally," Kijani grinned, wiping blood from his forehead with his cloak, "Now at least you'll have a target to aim for."

He ducked Lorne's next two swings easily, and then stooped, allowing Lorne to cut him twice across the back.

"Beggin' for your miserable life already?"

"Oh, no," Kijani laughed as his hand snaked out, releasing the sand he had picked up. "You were born stupid, Lorne, but you'll die blind too."

Lorne howled in frustration, blinded. Kijani easily avoided the bigger man as he lumbered around, swinging his falchion around wildly. He also noticed Lorne's movements slowing gradually, signs that his frenzy was nearing an end. Then the giant slipped and fell in his own blood, coming down hard on one knee. He tried to stand again, but grunted in frustration, blood loss finally slowing the juggernaut of his rage.

"The sand's a neat trick," he laughed harshly, then doubled over as a coughing fit wracked his body. When he looked up at Kijani, his eyes grew wide, and he laughed again, "I could've sworn I'd cut that pretty face of yours."

"Count yourself lucky," Kijani smiled, extending a hand to pull the giant up. "Very few would've managed that twice in a single combat."

"Why?" Lorne asked, frowning at the gauntlet before coughing again.

"So that you may die, like a warrior, on your feet."

Lorne grunted as, with the knight's help, he got back onto his feet. The falchion hung limply from his right hand, blood still flowing from under his left arm.

"I think I understand you now, knight, even if your face is still too pretty," he grinned.

"Good," Kijani smiled, "now die like the man you've become."

Lorne nodded. "Make it quick then, for I'm spent. Oh, and tell her… tell Carianna I'm sorry."

"I shall do so."

Two blades glinted in the sunlight, streaking like arrows. To the crowd of spectators they seemed to blur before the giant Luskan—former Greycloak, Harborman and son—toppled over slowly. Dust plumed as he crashed to the red earth. The smaller man sheathed his deadly steel and stooped to pick up his opponent's falchion. He turned to the gallery, presenting the weapon as proof of his victory, and then reverently laid it down next to the body. Silence hung over the tourney grounds, until the knight bowed low, flourishing his ridiculous hat at an innocent squire, her companions, and the crowd. He looked up and smiled, the cheers reminding him of rallying calls of a time gone by.


	5. Fresh Beginnings

_Author's Note_: Please note that some of the material you are about to read is definitely rated as **Mature Adult** for scenes of sexuality and nudity. You should be 18 years old or older before continuing on, as explicit adult themes are explored. Please do NOT continue if any of these make you uncomfortable. There are graphic and descriptive scenes in this narrative.

**Shadow Knight**

_Fresh Beginnings_

Docks District, Neverwinter  
_2 Eleint, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

"I'd like to thank you, Sir… Kijani… my knight," Carianna struggled, her eyes intensely green, flashing in the faint firelight.

Buoyant from their victory, none of them had even noticed Bishop's absence, drinking, talking, and joking into the late bells of the night. Being perhaps half a candle past middark, the others had by then all drifted away to their respective rooms or simply passed out where they sat. Khelgar was snoring noisily two tables away, while on a couch, Qara and Sand had fallen asleep arguing. Uncharacteristically, they were now united in sleep, her arm protectively placed over his smaller elven frame, as they lay together, oblivious to each other.

"Think nothing of it, squire" he smiled, taking her hand. His tankard toppled over, swamping the table like a tide covering the sand. "Reaver be hrammared! I'm sorry Cari."

"It's fine," she giggled, jumping up, "but now I'm all wet."

"Let me fetch a blanket from your room, or a towel," he offered, standing up quickly.

"You don't know which one's mine," she countered, grinning, "Follow me, and I'll let you dry me, if you want."

The invitation hung in the air between them.

"I should be a gentleman and decline, squire," he smiled, "but I'd be untrue to the Foehammer if I declined the same battle twice."

"Battle?" she asked as he came around the table then whooped as he scooped her up in his arms. "What are you doing, Sir?"

"Let's get you out of these wet clothes, squire," he growled in her ear.

"Yes, Sir!" she laughed a little breathlessly, directing his path to her room in the back of the Sunken Flagon.

_Duncan's going to have a fit,_ she thought, _First Bishop, now him._

Negotiating the closed door proved tricky, until he suggested, "Open it girl, haularake! Or do I have to kick it down and wake your uncle?"

She laughed again, at the simple logic of his solution, but hurriedly did as he suggested. He carried her into the room and set her down next to her bed. He turned around, kicking the door shut, somehow managing to let the bar fall into place at the same time. She laughed, again, at that trick, and then gasped as he turned back and ripped the front of her dress down the middle. He firmly pushed her down to sit on the edge of her bed, the torn garment falling open to reveal one breast, the nipple hard and puckered. She was not sure if it was from the spilled ale or her own excitement. She did not have long to ponder this as he knelt before her, looking up at her, his warm hands on her knees.

"Oh, please do, Sir," she breathed her consent, her voice suddenly husky with desire.

He parted her legs, firmly, not roughly, then reached under her buttocks and pulled her towards him as his face came down to meet the juncture of her thighs. She moaned, throatily, as his hot tongue rasped across her womanhood, then found her button. She grasped the back of his head, her fingers entwining in his hair as his tongue confounded her senses with its doublespeak. She tried valiantly to resist his manipulation, but soon her hips bucked off the bed, once, twice, thrice as her climax gripped her. Not relenting, he continued his oral torment and soon a second smaller acme followed the first. Mercifully, he then stood up and started unbuckling the leather straps of his breastplate as she collapsed onto her back. Feeling too spent to do much more, she at least managed to sit up halfway, propping herself up on her elbows, by the time the mithral armour dropped noiselessly to the floor.

"You're just full of tricks, Sir," she marvelled, grinning for no apparent reason.

"So are you it seems. You're not wearing any smallclothes, squire," he admonished her, as he pulled off his tunic and dropped that on the floor too.

"It was simply in preparation for your knighthood, Sir," she smiled wickedly, "Do you approve?"

"Now there's a thought to launch a thousand dreams," he laughed, stepping up to the edge of the bed between her open legs.

She twined her legs around his, locking her ankles around his knees. She would not allow him to escape as she reached up and greedily cupped his bulging crotch in her one hand. With the other, she teased the dark curls on his sculpted stomach. He moaned softly as she kneaded his manhood through the fabric of his trousers. With one deft movement, she pulled them down to mid-thigh, appraising him with a critical eye.

"Now that I've got your attention…" she teased then made him gasp as her wet lips enfolded him.

Her hands grabbed his buttocks, holding him in place as she took care of him with her tongue and mouth. Soon his legs began to shake, as he moaned and gasped at her delightful teasing.

"Enough, squire," he commanded, pulling away from her with an effort.

"Time to sheathe your sword, Sir?" she asked, looking up at him demurely.

"Time to sheathe my sword," he confirmed, pushing her back onto the bed as his hips rushed in to meet hers.

There was almost no resistance as her tight wetness took him in to the hilt. She gasped, then gasped again as he withdrew almost all of his length and rammed into her a second time. She scratched at his chest, lightly pinching his nipples as his elbows pressed on the insides of her knees, opening her up wide to receive him. She gasped and moaned as he rammed into her repeatedly. He started slowly, building up the tempo until she was writhing beneath him, her head whipping from side to side, her tongue darting out to lick at her lips. She reached her summit once, a second time, then a third and fourth, before losing count in her ecstasy. Shortly before she lost all sense, she felt him stiffen then felt the warmth of his release inside her. She peaked again then floated off into a haze of pleasure as he moaned and collapsed onto her. She smiled contentedly as she cooed in his ear, feeling the drumbeat of his heart slowly subsiding as they drifted off to sleep.

* * *

"Are you ever going to get up today, lass?" Duncan's thick, slightly nasal accent competed with his hammering on her door.

Carianna awoke with a start and then groaned at the painful sunlight assaulting her eyes. The black mead of the previous night and the very early morning lovemaking had made her feel both lethargic and energised at the same time. Rolling away from the window, she reached for him, hoping to convince him to indulge her with another round, despite her uncle's presence right outside the door. Instead of his warm body, her fingers touched a smallish, crisp scroll of parchment.

Taking stock of her situation, she winced, becoming aware of a rather large contingent of dwarves mining the inside of her skull with their mattocks.

"No, I'm not, uncle!" she shouted, wincing again and desperately clamping her eyes shut. The dwarves and her uncle seemed only to be invigorated by her voice.

"So what do I tell the courier?"

_Enough of this,_ she thought, reaching inside her nightstand for an ale purgative she had appropriated from Duncan's supply some time ago. She unstoppered it with her teeth and managed to swallow as much of the thick, greasy stuff as she could.

_Take that you Judge hrasted dwarves! Gods, but this stuff is vile; no wonder Duncan's always so grumpy. Sand could at least add some honey to mask the taste. Oh well, hair of the worg that bit you, eh._

The usually stoic half-orcs inside her stomach blanched and threatened to rebel by manning the bilge pumps.

_No, you idiots! I'm sure he doesn't really add any worg hairs to it._

"What courier?" she shouted, feeling slightly better for having quelled both the mining and the near rebellion. She wondered how long it would take the purgative to start working.

"The one that dropped off the trunks, lass! Says it's a gift from Lord Nasher!"

Opening her eyes again cautiously, she brought the scroll in front of her face. It was tied with lilac ribbon and had been sealed with what seemed like ivory sealing wax with a crocus flower imprint. She smiled.

"Well thank the man, uncle, give him some silver from your hoard, and send him on his way!"

"All right, lass, but I'll expect you to be paying me back, I will!"

She could hear Duncan stomping off, choice blasphemies and curses aimed at Lord Nasher, errant nieces, life in general and Sand.

_Always poor Sand. Bless his elven heart for these purgatives; I think it's starting to work now._

She broke the seal, untied the ribbon, unrolled the parchment, and began to read. The script was strong, but rather erratic and the words endearingly formal, as if the writer was used to solving problems with actions rather than words.

_My Dearest Squire,_

_Please accept my apology. I am truly sorry that I did not get the opportunity to say goodbye before I departed this morning. It was unavoidable however, as urgent matters outside Neverwinter demand my attention. I shall endeavour to be back within the tenday. You may wish to know that Axle has also requested an audience, once you are done with Nasher and court that is. Fortunately, Axle is a patient man, as those proceedings may take a while._

_Your Knight,  
Sir Kijani_

_Oh, by the way squire, in case you had not noticed it, the ale had been deliberate. Please have your lovely dress cleaned and mended at my cost.—SK_

She grinned at that, and then smiled as her eyes fell on the torn dress neatly draped over her chair. A small pouch was keeping it company.

_He even cleans up after himself,_ she grinned, however, the smile quickly faded from her mouth, _But by Bane's shaking white hand, ten days!_

Pouting sulkily, Carianna spitefully decided to ignore the demands of life for the rest of that day. With his letter clutched to her chest, she went back to sleep.

* * *

Thundertree, the Sword Coast  
_4 Eleint, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

Kijani kneeled at the unmarked grave, finding it easily, even as overgrown as it had become. He smiled. She would have liked it that way. She would have liked the fact that he had dug the grave himself. She would have liked the fact that he had buried her without pomp or ceremony. She would have liked the fact that she had come home.

"You were ever the more pragmatic one, Beth."

For a long time he simply waited, head bowed. Axle Devrie was not the only patient man when he needed to be.

_Sit my love. I'm not a god that you should kneel before my grave._

Kijani sat down, crossing his legs under him, leaning back to rest on his palms.

_You look troubled my love, but happy. What's the matter?_

"I've met someone," he blurted, pain flashing in his eyes, "I…"

_Do you love me?_

"I do. I always will."

_Have you forgotten me?_

"No, Beth, never!"

_Do you love her?_

"I don't know… I think I do… I'm sorry Beth…"

_Hush my love. If you've come here to seek my blessing, then you have it. She should know she's a lucky woman, as was I once. No, my love, you've mourned for me long enough. You need to live again, laugh again and love again._

"Beth, I…" he faltered, tears of joy and sadness mingling on his cheeks, "I love you so much."

_I know, Kijani. Therefore, you should stop seeking death at every turn. We'll be reunited soon enough. Enjoy your life instead of looking forward to your death._

He just sat there, silent. He knew it was the truth.

_Now, what news of Neverwinter?_

"I wish I could forgive as easily as you, Beth," he smiled wanly, "Nasher's up to his old tricks again."

_That's why you and Casavir are there, or not my love?_

Kijani smiled again. He knew that he could never beat her in an argument. Lady Aribeth de Tylmarande had been an elf and a paladin in life and her logic defied him still. For the rest of the day he sat there, discussing life with the dead.

* * *

Burnished copper and amber eyes watched as the knight kneeled at an unmarked grave.

_You kill interloper? You kill one that smells of ivory for stealing mate?_

_No. Not yet._

_When you kill den-breaker then?_

_Soon, my friend, soon._

_You wish to play with prey, like crag cat does?_

_Yes._

Brushed copper and amber eyes continued to watch for a while, then followed other paths. Tracking this one again, when the time was right, would be no effort at all. Killing him with a poisoned arrow in the back, would be even easier.

* * *

West Harbor, the Sword Coast  
_12 Eleint, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

"Come daughter," Daeghun urged, gently shaking her shoulder.

Carianna groaned, "In a moment, father," then her eyes flew open wide.

_Where in the hells am I?_

Then she remembered all the running and sneaking around, the traps and the fighting. They had been too late. Aldanon was gone; that stinking, sneaking, trapping dwarf had kidnapped him.

_Haularake!_

They had run to Castle Never. Early morning in Lord Nasher's court had not been pleasant for them, all dirty, smelly and bloody. They had run to, and then rested briefly in Tavorick Estate, while Lord Cyran Tavorick had winked, pawed, and smelled of eighty-four year old cabbage.

_I think I hate nobles._

Then the demons had come and they had run downstairs and fought, and then had heard him scream. They had run upstairs to his rooms and fought, and then had run downstairs to hide, only to fight some more. The crypt had supposedly been warded—or perhaps it had not—but they had fought some more before the stench had reached them.

_I think I hate demons._

Qaggoth-yeg had killed them, had pulled their frail human bodies apart as a spoiled child does to clay. When he had toppled over, making the ground shake and his enemies gag before his stench finally dissipated, Lord Tavorick had revealed that it had all been for nothing.

_I think I hate nobles more._

They had run to the Mask, dirtier, smellier and bloodier, drinking healing potions and using field dressings on the go. One of the Nine had been in mortal danger, but the warlock had already killed her and taken her shard. The bastard had merely been waiting for them to sic his Nessian war hounds on.

_No, I think I hate demons more._

They had walked to Castle Never. Early morning in Lord Nasher's court had again not been pleasant, with them at their dirtiest, smelliest and bloodiest. Only the new Luskan ambassador had been uglier. Lord Nasher had commanded that they all rest and make for a place called Crossroad Keep. They had rested and come to West Harbor instead.

_No, I think I hate Nasher the most!_

"Pack some rations, and your bow," he suggested, halfway to the stairs already, "We leave in half a candle."

Carianna groaned again, but knew better than to be tardy. Growing up with Daeghun had disabused her of any notion that one could sleep in at Farlong house, West Harbor.

* * *

Mere of Dead Men, the Sword Coast  
_12 Eleint, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

"Tell me again why we've walked all this way into the swamp," Carianna whined, wincing at the cramps in her calves and blisters on her feet.

"In a moment, daughter," Daeghun soothed, "but first take off those boots."

_Never a straight answer,_ she thought grimly, but nevertheless unlaced her dyed-black, calfskin boots.

When she was done, Daeghun took a hold of her feet and inspected her blisters critically. He was quiet for a while, as if weighing up his options, before he spoke, "I don't suppose you know any healing spells, daughter?"

She shook her head.

"Oh, very well," he sighed, "rather a wasted spell than a wasted bandage. _Fallana kalina harwar!_"¹

"Did you use magic the night of the attack too?" she asked spitefully, "Or did you actually waste some bandages on the hurt and dying?"

"That was different."

"How so?" she persisted, despite the fact that his magic had removed her blisters and had even relieved the cramps.

"We only have limited supplies and rations for this hunt."

_Ever the pragmatist, father._

She sighed, but a small half-smile crept onto her face.

"So what are we hunting so far into the Mere anyway? And just how far _did_ you push us today?"

Daeghun looked up at her face, trying to determine if she was still being ill tempered. Apparently satisfied that she was truly interested he replied. "We are hunting an _orodraa,_² daughter, and she is not far ahead. If the wind turns and she gets our scent, she may turn back to deal with her pursuers."

"You mean us?" she asked, exasperated at his apparent dispassion.

"Yes. As for how many miles caused your cramps and blisters, and caused me to waste a spell, I'd say we've done about five leagues, give or take a mile."

"Was that supposed to be a joke, father?"

"Let's just say I have my own cramps and blisters to waste a spell on."

Still not sure if there was indeed a joke behind his blank face, Carianna asked, "Did anyone ever tell you, you'd clean up with Three Dragon Ante father?"

Still not smiling, Daeghun replied, "I have been told that in the past," then grimaced slightly as he removed his own sturdy walking boots and intoned, "_Fallana kalina harwar!_"

* * *

¹ elven, "Heal light wounds":- _cure light wounds_  
² elven:- mountain lion

* * *

Sword Mountains, the Sword Coast  
_14 Eleint, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

"How much more father?"

"Hush, child."

A scream echoed down the gully that they had been using to climb steadily up the side of the mountain before them. The spurs and ravines reminded Carianna of the knuckles of a gargantuan fist, but all flights of fancy evaporated with the last echoes of the sound.

"Who was that?"

"Not who, but what, daughter," Daeghun offered, stringing his longbow, "I'd suggest you string your bow."

Carianna fumbled with the sinew, her brows knotting in concentration as she tried to recall the tricks she had picked up from him in her youth. Another manlike scream pierced the air and she jumped as something brushed the back of her leg.

"Relax daughter," he droned, "It would take quite some magic for Rana to become our _orodraa._"

As if laughing—or perhaps smiling apologetically, Carianna could not tell—the coyote's mouth split open, pink tongue lolling out between white canines.

_Cat that screams like man not yet close. Him screams from smelling scent of hunters._

"How far Rana?" Daeghun asked aloud for Carianna's benefit.

_Far as you can shoot branch that whistles. Far as wolf can chase for prey._

"Several hundred yards, perhaps half a mile."

"So what do we do now father?"

"We find some high ground, rest and wait for the _orodraa._ She will find us at night, of that I am pretty sure."

* * *

Sword Mountains, the Sword Coast  
_15 Eleint, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

"Are you awake daughter?"

"Yes father," Carianna whispered in answer, "I didn't sleep much. Did you have reverie?"

"Yes, I am rested and ready. Do any of your… ah… unique skills allow you to see in darkness?"

"I thought you didn't approve…"

"What I do not approve of, child, is waste. Right now you are _wasting_ precious time and believe me when I tell you, the _orodraa_ is close."

"Cyric only grants me the ability to appear wraithlike or indistinct at times."

"I doubt that would fool the _orodraa._ We have not bathed in two days and your human smell would be like a beacon fire for her."

_Bastard!_

"And what about your _elven_ stench father?"

"While I no doubt reek as much as you do, child, I have the odour of peat and moss and forest. I am elf."

_No, make that self-righteous bastard!_

"And what do I reek of then?"

"Right now, child, you reek of wasted time. Now close your eyes."

Carianna was about to argue when the air split with another eerie scream.

"_Silma elea!_"¹ Daeghun intoned quickly then notched an arrow.

Carianna gasped as, under the influence of his spell, the darkness suddenly gave way to reveal a large mountain lion in mid-pounce. Then the cat landed on her, knocking her to the stony ground. Claws raked at her, while flashing teeth sought her throat. She gagged at the charnel, fetid stench of its maw in her face.

"_Lant'lorna!_"²

The puma snarled as if trying to resist, then slumped on top of her, stinking tongue lolling out to touch her cheek. She shuddered, but somehow managed not to scream.

"Are you hurt daughter?"

"No," was all she managed weakly.

"Stay still, so as not to wake her. I shall aid you in a moment daughter."

"Hurry father! I think I might throw up."

Carianna saw Daeghun approach, felt him slip something—_Rope,_ her mind insisted—over the saucer-like paw pinning her right arm to the ground. He grunted, and she felt the dead weight slip off her as the cougar rolled onto its side.

"Quickly daughter, help me bind her."

"What… Why?"

With the initial danger over, her body seemed to want to shut down. Her mind felt covered in cotton as her body purged adrenaline. The slap when it came, was gentle, but stung her like ice.

"Focus, child, or we may yet die here! Quickly now, we only have a few moments before she wakes up."

With her help, Daeghun quickly trussed up the mountain lion, and then they both stood back and waited for it to wake up.

Realisation nagged at Carianna and she railed, "Was this your plan father? I was the bait, wasn't I?"

"Calm yourself child. If you had not been so obstinate, I could have cast the sleep spell long before she attacked you. In fact…"

"Was I the bait, you bastard?"

"You would have been safe… or rather, a lot safer, daughter. I was merely relying on your human smell to attract her. Now please stay your recriminations for later. We are not out of the woods yet, as you humans like to say."

"Us humans…" she started, but was interrupted as the cat stirred, then growled and snarled as it realised it was trapped.

"Let us see what she has to say for herself. _Quena yassen kelvar!_"³

* * *

¹ elven, "Starlight sight":- _low light vision_  
² elven, "Fall asleep":- _sleep_  
³ elven:- _speak with animals_

* * *

_Vine! Trapped! Must bite! Must rend vine! Then rend elf, rend human! Must be free! Cubs hungry! Cubs in danger!_

"Calm yourself, lady of the mountain," Daeghun droned, his voice soft and measured, "You may yet live to see your cubs."

_You speak like mate?_ the puma snarled, _It matters not. I rend your vine! Then I rend you, silent elf!_

"Are you sure great lady? Will you not rather listen first?"

_I rend you and your man-cub! I feed your flesh to hungry cubs at den._

"Very well, lady. I had hoped to avoid this… _Tamp'rutha kelvar!_"¹

_Why you snare me in vine?_ the cougar growled softly, _Why you hunt me for many suns?_

"You know why lady of the mountain. You have hunted in the human's den ground. You have taken prey that is not free to try to flee from you. The humans fear that you may try to take one of their cubs as prey next. I found your spoor and decided to hunt you, to perhaps find your den?"

_You kill me? Kill cubs?_

"That is not my choice. If I let you live you must swear a boon-oath and a blood-oath."

_I swear nothing!_

"Are the lives of your cubs so easily forfeit then?"

The mountain lion was silent for a long time, then growled, _Speak your oath, for cubs._

"And your life?"

_Speak your oath for cubs! Only if cubs safe will hear oath for life._

"Very well, great lady. As boon-oath for the prey you have stolen from the human's den ground and for the lives of your cubs, you must offer a she-cub to this she-cub in a life-bond."

_Impossible!_

"The life-bond of one cub for the lives of all the others is not a steep cliff to climb, lady."

_This she-cub is man-cub, not elf-cub. She smells of cruel blood and something-like-fire-rock. She not cares for cub. She not let cub hunt._

"If that is ever so, you and your she-cub may consider the life-bond forfeit. What say you lady of the mountain?"

_You ask male portion of kill. Speak your oath for life._

"Do you swear?"

_No! Hear oath for life then swear or die._

"As you wish, great lady. As blood-oath for your life spared, you must never hunt in human's den ground again. This is for your safety, and theirs."

_Why? Why you offer oath for cubs and oath for life? Why you not rend with branch that whistles or claws of something-like-fire-rock?_

"This she-cub needs a den-mother. She is a ranger, but she needs to learn to eat what she hunts."

_She leaves kills for coyotes and crows?_

"Will you swear?"

_I understand. I swear. Now release me._

"You have this she-cub's scent?"

_I have._

"Then when your she-cub has made her first kill, you will both hunt this one and fulfil your boon-oath."

_I have sworn._

* * *

¹ elven, "Stop anger animals":- _calm animals_

* * *

Carianna stood tense and unsure of what to do as the cat snarled and growled, while Daeghun uttered similar growls in return, although it seemed that his were gentler. After some time, they both stopped and Daeghun stooped to start undoing the ties and knots that kept the cougar captive.

"What are you doing father? It'll kill us."

"On the contrary, daughter, we have come to an understanding. She has sworn oaths and I am satisfied. She is free to go."

The cougar growled one last time, then bounded off and disappeared into the night. Carianna stared, but then her frustration and anger boiled over.

"We've come all this way… No, never mind that. I was almost killed, almost torn apart by that _thing,_ just so that you could set it free again!"

"You are a ranger, are you not?"

"What in the hells has that got to do with anything?"

"You are a ranger, are you not?" Daeghun asked again.

"Yes, you know that," she screamed, tears of frustration running down her face, "Although I can't seem to cast any spells, or track, or see in the dark, or hear my enemies approaching, or do anything you approve of."

"On the contrary, daughter, during this hunt you have proven yourself quite capable, and in time will make a fine ranger."

"What?"

"I have merely ensured that those shortcomings you speak of will be somewhat mitigated in future."

"What the hells? Can't you ever speak plainly to me father?"

"Very well," he sighed, diligently rolling up his rope, "I have ensured that when the time is right, you will have one of her cubs as your companion."

Carianna's mouth fell open.

"Close your mouth, child, you can hardly shout at me while trying to swallow a blood-fly."

"You wasted… you wasted all this… all of it for me?"

"It was hardly wasted…"

For one of the few times in his life, Daeghun's reflexes were a little too slow, as Carianna pounced on him and enveloped his slender frame in a hug.

"Thank you father."

"Really daughter, these human shows of emotion…"

"Just shut the hells up, you bastard elf," she sniffled through her tears, "I won't torture you that much longer."

"That is a good thing daughter, as we have a long trek ahead of us."

"I wonder, father, what's the Elven word for hunt?" she asked, finally releasing him.

"_Far_ means to hunt, or did you mean…"

"And what's a man?"

"_Edan,_ or _edain_ for men."

"Then _far edain_ will hunt men?"

A ghost of a smile played on his lips as he replied, "No, daughter, _Fararen'edain_¹ will hunt men."

"You approve then?"

"It is a fine name. Now come, let us see if you can keep up with a bastard elf on the way back to West Harbor."

* * *

¹ elven:- hunter of men

* * *

Weeping Willow Inn, the Sword Coast  
_18 Eleint, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

"So what is the plan Carianna?" Casavir finally asked, the leather straps and harness of his full plate creaking as he sat down opposite her.

"I miss him, Casavir," she sighed wistfully.

Casavir huffed, hairy thunderheads forming above his piercing blue eyes. "Bishop?"

"No," she hesitated, "not him. I miss Kijani."

"I am sorry my lady, but you have me at a loss now."

"My dear paladin, I know that Tyr is blind, but I didn't realise Tyrrans were too," Sand sighed, somehow having managed to clean the mud from his boots and the hem of his robes. He was looking once again immaculate as he sat down next to Carianna. "However, as I, for one, wish to leave this _dreadful_ swamp behind us as soon as possible, let me echo Casavir's question. Do we haste back to your knight, defiant of Nasher's orders?"

"I'm beginning to hate nobles."

"Although I would not use that particular word, I feel you are in good company Carianna," Casavir sighed, his baritone rolling out like thunder before an approaching storm.

"Oh, I agree with our paladin," the elf smirked, "'Noble' is much too strong a word; it leaves a bad taste in the mouth."

"Well, before the rite of Tyr, Kijani was quite insistent that I speak to you, Casavir: about nobility. Isn't he a noble too though?"

"I daresay your knight, despite his lack of virtue with the fairer sex, is nobler than many in Blacklake."

"Oh, the sweet scent of bitterness," Sand mused, "You do not wear that cloak often, my dear paladin."

Casavir slumped, then thunder resumed as he gave voice to his resentment. "You saw her, did you not, Sand? You saw what nobility had made of her; saw her before she joined with Maugrim atop the roof of your Host Tower."

"It was hardly _my_ Host Tower, but you do have a point. And I did later hear about the mob 'justice' she had faced, much like her fiancé I believe. Our 'Lord' Nasher had been in fine form even back then."

"You both knew Aribeth?" Carianna asked, looking from one to the other.

"She had been my mentor when I was barely an acolyte to the faith," Casavir confessed, grimly, "If anyone deserved Lord Nasher's pardon…"

"If anyone deserved Nasher's pardon, 'tis the rest of Neverwinter for ever having gotten him as Lord."

"So what must I do? I hate doing his bidding, but I don't want to end up like Aribeth either."

"Do the noble thing, Carianna."

"Altruism aside," Sand grimaced, "what our holy warrior said has some merit. A healthy dose of self-preservation would do wonders to save our necks from Nasher's noose. Better to give the 'honour' of killing us to our 'real' enemies."

"Like Garius?"

"Like Garius," the two men confirmed.

"I still miss him."

"For what it is worth my lady," Casavir smiled, "Crossroad Keep is some leagues closer to Neverwinter."

* * *

Copper and amber eyes watched as light spilled from the windows of the inn.

_Why you not go mate some other female? You hunt this one for many moons, not mark mating ground._

_No. I've marked my matin' ground with this female already._

_Why den-breaker still live then?_

_Because I want her to know who ripped the den-breaker's throat out. I want her to know who the pack leader is._

_I think Bishop go mate other females during hunt for this female. Bishop not wants pups?_

_No. Now leave me be._

The pair of dark copper eyes continued to watch, while amber followed other paths. Tarnished copper eyes narrowed as the blonde farmer undressed and took a bath. Dark copper eyes chuckled mockingly as the druid slipped out to spend the night sleeping in the swamp. Keen copper eyes finally closed as the dark haired assassin turned out her light and slept obliviously.

* * *

Crossroad Keep Ruins, the Sword Coast  
_22 Eleint, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

"I'm beginning to really hate this King of Shadows!" Carianna railed, wincing as Casavir tied off a field dressing over the gaping gash on her right thigh.

"At least we've managed to stop his ritual," Shandra, no longer quite the farmer or damsel in distress, voiced hopefully.

"Do not be naïve, _girl,_" Sand sneered, as Elanee, wearing the shape of a treant, used her magic to heal the cuts his stony skin had not quite turned. "I have a feeling this ritual achieved some manner of success, even if not exactly how Garius had planned. And by the gods, Elanee, the battle is over now; must you still wave your branches about like an oak caught in a gale?"

"What in the hells was going on here?" Vale, the leader of the detachment of Many-Starred Cloak mages asked, his face ashen and drawn.

"What you see here is the price one pays when attempting to use power without the means to control it," Sand chided at no one and everyone in particular.

"The power here is what I felt at the heart of the Mere," Elanee gasped, as she struggled to shift back into her elven form, "and almost as strong. Shadow still touches this place—and these bodies."

"We have prevented a great evil here, yet something… something still feels wrong," the paladin agreed, laying hands of healing on Shandra's exposed sword arm.

"We need to report back to Lord Nasher immediately and tell him what has happened here," Vale insisted.

"Well, unless you can teleport," Sand scoffed, "I would suggest that we have some rest first. Neverwinter is still three days' travel hence."

"I do have a scroll," Vale informed them, still somewhat unsure.

"Well then," Sand sniffed derisively, "unless 'tis a mass teleport, I would strongly suggest you use it to relieve us of your company and prepare Nasher for our delayed arrival. I am _so_ glad to see the standards of recruitment at the Many-Starred Cloaks have remained the same over the years."

Once Vale had given orders to his lieutenants and left, presumably for Castle Never, Carianna asked, "So what now? Was stopping Garius all that was left to do?"

"I doubt it, Carianna," Casavir answered tiredly, "but for now I think we should follow Sand's suggestion and find a place to rest."

"Once we get back to Neverwinter, won't Aldanon be able to tell us something more?" Shandra asked, not quite wanting to abandon all hope, but expecting another rebuttal from the wizard. "Wasn't it his message that started this whole search in the first place?"

To her surprise, Sand agreed with her without too much sarcasm.

Relieved, Shandra smiled as she offered, "Good! Then that's settled. Grab a buddy and let's head out. And when we make camp, I'll use one of my special Jerro recipes for dawnfry."

The others suddenly envied Naloch as the badger growled and scurried off, deciding it was better to be away from camp for dawnfry, perhaps hunting, or even feeding on grubs.


	6. Storm Watch

_Author's Note_: Please note that some of the material you are about to read is definitely rated as **Mature Adult** for scenes of sexuality and nudity. You should be 18 years old or older before continuing on, as explicit adult themes are explored. Please do NOT continue if any of these make you uncomfortable. There are graphic and descriptive scenes in this narrative.

**Shadow Knight**

_Storm Watch_

Docks District, Neverwinter  
_27 Eleint, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

Carianna struggled for breath while her heart pounded against her chest as Kijani softly kissed her, his one arm between her shoulder blades, the other wrapped tightly around her waist. Her heart raced as his hand gently cupped the back of her neck, drawing her into his fervent kisses. She groaned in irritation as her fingers grazed unyielding mithral and not his skin.

"Don't you ever take that hrasted thing off?" she griped, pulling her lips away, "Not even for a moment?"

Kijani said nothing, but rose from her bed. She looked away, sure that she had offended him. She opened her mouth to speak when she heard the quiet noise of mithral being set on the floor.

"Yes, Cari," he said quietly, teasing her slightly, "I do take the hrammared thing off. I just hadn't expected quite such a pleasant greeting when I'd come to see you this morning."

Carianna smiled despite herself. She looked back up as he sat down on the bed once more, her gaze falling to the dark tunic he wore under his armour. She shifted closer and pressed her hands against his chest, soft linen meeting her fingers rather than cool metal. His body was wonderfully warm.

"So," she whispered, sliding her arms around his neck, "My knight's still human under that breastplate I see."

He chuckled then silenced any further comments with a passionate kiss before gently easing her onto her back. He straddled her hips as she pulled at his tunic, eager to feel the heat of his skin.

"Patience, squire," he murmured, chuckling as Carianna frowned in frustration, "Patience."

She groaned a little then grinned as Kijani touched the flimsy straps resting on her shoulders and eased them down her arms. A seductive smile curled her lips as she wriggled her upper body out of the silky nightgown and stretched her lithe body out before him. Her smile widened as she caught him watching the gentle rise and fall of her ample breasts.

"Well?" she teased, "See something you like, Sir?"

"Yes, squire," he countered, unable to keep his eyes from wandering over her body, "You! But tell me, Cari, is it the custom among Harbormen to _give_ presents on one's birthday?"

"No, but I'm glad you like them," Carianna breathed, excitement building inside her. She grabbed the waistband of his trousers. "Is it my turn to get a present, Sir?" she asked playfully.

Kijani grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands away; he leaned in close, his hazel eyes sparkling mischievously. His lips claimed hers before blazing a path of heat down her neck and over the paw-print tattoo on her chest, finally coming to rest between her breasts. She writhed underneath his weight as he drew a nipple into the warmth of his mouth, her body aching for his touch.

He slid off her and Carianna gazed at him, her body blazing with need. She gasped as his hand pushed up the hem of the gown and lightly stroked the insides of her thighs, causing her to tremble. Her breaths became short and sharp as he teased her, drawing close to her moist warmth before moving away. He was thoroughly enjoying her little noises of protest. She could not endure the torment anymore. She closed her hand around his wrist, stopping him.

"Enough," she growled, her chest heaving, "Please? Enough." She eyed him hungrily before cupping the bulge in his trousers. "Stop denying me, Kijani."

She watched as a dark tunic flew to the floor, soon followed by a pair of dark trousers. Carianna grinned as Kijani knelt between her slightly parted legs. Her eyes drifted over his powerful chest and stomach muscles before settling below his navel. She reached out and wrapped her hands around his growing arousal, her gentle caresses causing him to groan in pleasure.

He moved her hands away for a second time, pressing her fingertips against his lips. He pulled her hands behind his neck before he eased his way up her body, so that his eyes looked down into hers. She reached up and brushed her lips against his in a tantalizing half-kiss.

"Please, my love," she whispered, "I want you."

She arched her hips and moaned softly, her mouth half open in a sigh as he guided himself inside her. Her breath caught in her throat as her body tightened around him, his aroused flesh filling her completely. Kijani paused, savouring the feel of her soft warmth around him. He leaned forward on his forearms, and with an agonizing slowness, he began to thrust.

Carianna wrapped her legs around his waist and closed her eyes, tiny gasps passing her lips with every measured, deliberate movement of his hips. Her fingers wandered over his body, tracing the scars on his skin and trailing through the dark hair on his chest. Slowly, gradually, she rose to meet him, to take him deeper inside her.

Kijani's thrusts became powerful, possessive, more intense as he gained momentum, his breaths ragged and shallow. Her quiet moans became pants as they crashed together, as she felt the blissful heat building within her. Her body drew taut as she bucked wildly beneath him, his strokes bringing her close to the edge.

Kijani could feel his own pleasure boil inside him, threatening to spill over. He clenched his teeth and plunged himself inside her, harder, deeper, his own muscles tense and coiled. She cried out suddenly; her head pressed back against her pillow and she dug her fingernails into his back. She gasped and trembled violently against him, the pleasurable heat spreading through her like wildfire.

The feel of her climax was too much for him and he abandoned himself to his own pleasure; with one final thrust, he released himself inside her, letting wave after wave of ecstasy wash over him. He collapsed onto her chest, struggling to catch his breath and she held him close, lightly stroking his black hair.

"Thank you for thinking of me on this day," she purred, suddenly cupping his face in earnest, as if to reassure herself that he was real.

"I'm here, Cari," he smiled then in seriousness allowed a frown to wrinkle the cross-like scar on his forehead. "Although, I've brought you something for the times I'm not."

"More gifts?" she squealed, then giggled as she felt him stir inside her again. "Oh, Sir, and you seem to have another gift for me too," she teased huskily, before he silenced her with more of his fervent kisses.

* * *

Blacklake District, Neverwinter  
_27 Eleint, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

"I hope you don't mind, but I felt guilty about your dress," Kijani mentioned as they stopped, arm-in-arm, outside a cheery shop proclaiming itself to be the Bright Weaves Laundry.

"Are you _blushing,_ Sir?" Carianna teased, "Actually, in the rush of running around looking for Aldanon and that old cabbage, Tavorick, I'd forgotten all about it."

"I know," he replied enigmatically, as he pushed open the shop door, setting a chime ringing inside.

"Kijani, welcome," the plump, stooping, and greying laundress greeted, "Come for your package, have you?"

"Amundra, my love, you've read my mind."

"My love?" Carianna frowned slightly, "Should I be jealous?"

"Cari, meet Amundra Nelaerdra, the finest seamstress in Neverwinter. She won't admit to it, but I think she somehow uses magic in this shop of hers."

"Pay him no mind, dear," Amundra laughed then asked, "So this is your young squire? Kijani you old scoundrel! You never told me she was so beautiful." Turning to Carianna, she extended a hand to her, "Come along dear, the fitting rooms are right through here."

Carianna looked at them both, puzzled.

"Come dear," Amundra laughed again, "I won't bite, I promise. And while we're busy, you can confirm all the juicy gossip I've heard about you."

Some time later, the two women re-emerged. Carianna looked radiant if a little breathless at the same time.

"It's beautiful," she managed.

"Only needed minor alteration," Amundra smiled proudly, "If you weren't a knight in Lord Nasher's employ already, I'd bribe you to come and work for me, Kijani. You have a good eye. It's a bit scandalous, but unlike me, you've never bothered with the gossip of nobles."

"I thank you, my love. Was the payment enough?"

"Tact, on the other hand, is still something you struggle with," the seamstress laughed, "We'll discuss _that_ some other time. Right now, you have to see if the brooch matches."

* * *

"So what are your plans my love?" Kijani asked, breaking off a steaming hunk of sourdough bread, before spreading a generous dollop of rich butter onto it. They were having highsunfeast in the rather austere, yet highly fashionable Board Laid Bare tavern and restaurant.

"What do you mean, my knight?"

"I've heard that Nasher's given you something of a promotion. No doubt your captaincy of Crossroad Keep will save his coffers the considerable amount of gold it'll take to rebuild that monstrosity."

"That's true, but…"

"Sir?" the serving wench interrupted skilfully, "My mistress asks if everything's satisfactory thus far and if we may commence with the main course."

"Ah, yes," he smiled, "You may tell Kellisai that everything's splendid as usual. But tell me, what is the fare today?"

"For today, we have fresh Neverwinter bass cooked in a delectable white wine, cream and garlic sauce. For those with a meatier tooth, we also have selections of roast boar, hare, or venison. To this, you may add some lovely greens, lightly pan-fried in butter, or roasted baby potatoes smothered in a mustard sauce. For the braver palate may I suggest some onions fried in a spicy tomato sauce?"

"I see Kellisai hasn't lost her touch," Kijani smiled, "My mouth is watering just from the description. Could you give us a few moments to decide though?"

"Very well Sir," she agreed as she withdrew discreetly, but not before replenishing their drinks.

_Tell me this isn't a dream,_ Carianna prayed; nervously fingering the brooch he had given her earlier.

Though it was an exquisite piece of jewellery, it in fact also cleverly concealed a Neverwinter knife, a small dagger with the ability to paralyze its victim. Carianna was feeling rather like using it on herself, the press of nobility for the first time weighing heavily on her bare shoulders.

They ordered their highsunfeast and it arrived in due course while they discussed her appointment as Captain of Crossroad Keep. It had surprised both her and Sand when Lord Nasher had given her the keep to refurbish and prepare against further attempts on Neverwinter and her own life. The next day Captain Brelaina, commander of the Watch, had requested she visit the Watch headquarters in the Merchant District. Worried about her own connection to the thieves in Neverwinter, it had been with some trepidation that she had pushed open the heavy oak door to Captain Brelaina's office.

As it had turned out, she had had nothing to worry about. Captain Brelaina had been trying to understand a simple, yet still overly complex explanation by Aldanon about the differences and similarities between the githyanki and githzerai and had been rather relieved to push both Aldanon and the githzerai prisoner off on Carianna and her companions. Zhjaeve, a zerth, a type of priest for the githzerai, had been able to tell her a lot, yet still tantalisingly little about the shards she bore and the one embedded in her chest.

"So, my love and squire, what's next for the intrepid Captain?" he smiled, hazel eyes twinkling.

"To be honest, I've no idea, Sir," she sighed, not for the first time since Lord Nasher had sprung the responsibility on her. "I don't suppose I could run away with you to wherever you've disappeared to the last few tendays?"

"While that'd be wonderful my love, this King of Shadows sounds like a dangerous foe and steps should be taken to stop him. What if I instead offered to join you at your ruins?"

"You would? Really?" she asked, "What about…"

"I'm here, Cari, with you, am I not?"

"I'd love that, yes, I… Thank you, again, for… for everything, and the presents and…"

"Careful, squire, or I might just have to get a Many-Starred Cloak mage to help me deflate my head."

"Well, Sir, I know that you loved her… loved Aribeth dearly. I'm not… well, I'm not her and that could be a bad thing and a good thing."

"Carianna, stop," he commanded softly, holding her hand, "One of the places I've disappeared to these last few tendays was Beth's grave. But I've returned for you haven't I?"

"I suppose," she agreed, "It's just… well, I haven't often been loved just for me; that's apart from some rake wanting a quick tumble with me or… I just don't know if I can trust this."

"Well then squire, I think it'd be best to allow time, time together at your rubble waiting to become a keep, to tell us one way or another."

"I'd like that, Kijani, but right now I'm in the mood for some sweetmeats and then some desert."

"Perhaps we should leave now and ask Kellisai to send something to the Flagon?"

"That, Sir, sounds like a _wonderful_ idea," she giggled, suddenly happy that her dress was more scandalous than the lingering kiss she leaned over to give him. She giggled again when she felt his hand already halfway up her inner thigh.

* * *

Crossroad Keep Ruins, the Sword Coast  
_30 Eleint, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

It was a thoroughly miserable and rainy day, a sure sign that the coming winter would be a cold and white one. Despite the growing signs in and around the Mere that some things were rather amiss, nature's course could not so easily be deflected. Their spirits were as damp as the weather, as they climbed up the stone switchback rising from the outer to the inner gate and bisecting the outer bailey.

Kijani noted with an expert eye that none of the trebuchets or catapults reposing inside the bailey, or on the outer gatehouse wall, were in any serviceable condition. He was relieved to find that both gatehouse walls were in a fair condition, having—mostly—only lost their outer casing layers of stone to the ravages of time and the war with the King of Shadows.

Sir Nevalle was waiting for them inside the torch lit gloom of the inner gate.

"I know that you may think it has seen better days… I say it will again."

"Greetings to you too, Nevalle," Kijani called, bowing, the white feather in his hat looking almost as bedraggled as Sand.

The rest of their companions had been coping with the rain with various levels of success, but the elf looked absolutely mortified. His normally immaculate hair was plastered to his forehead, while his robes clung to his slender frame and his boots made annoying little squelching sounds every time he moved.

In contrast, the githzerai, Zhjaeve, was positively rapturous, choosing to stay in the rain while they greeted the knight of the Nine. She had explained that she had never experienced rain before, as it was not something found on Limbo. That chaos-plane was almost incapable of supporting permanent life, let alone something as complex as weather.

"Will you come in out of that," Sand snapped in irritation, wringing out one of his sleeves.

"_Know_ that I endure. In enduring, I grow strong," was her enigmatic reply, "Allow me to give you endurance, so that you may grow strong too."

"And what is that supposed…"

"_WihQa'zo'fehKa'dhe'zh'to'mahli'ne'!_"¹ the zerth intoned, her slender arms already waving in mystic passes.

"Ah, such a simple spell," Qara mocked, "What's the matter book-reader? Forgot to scribe it into your tome back in wizard's school?"

"Not now, you two," Casavir warned, but then allowed sparks of sunlight to ignite his piercing blue eyes, "I do believe the knight with the perfect hair is about to regale us again."

Surprisingly, both mages shared a look and sniggered, before Qara sneered, "Here, wizard, let me help you too. _Iba Nar!_"²

The wizard yelped as steam rose from his robes, but visibly relaxed as he realised her spell had indeed dried them without harming him. "Allow me to return the favour one day," he warned, even if already looking less miserable.

Nevalle looked somewhat annoyed by their antics, but nevertheless soldiered on. "This keep was destroyed during the war with the King of Shadows. It was a dark time for Neverwinter, but we persevered, as you have this day."

"Why've you asked us back here?" Carianna asked, "Has Nasher changed his mind?"

"I have brought you back here under orders, Carianna. For Lord Nasher has asked that I explain your task to you. And perhaps it will also allow our… planar… guest to see what it is that you will be fighting for in the coming days."

"_Know_ that I fight the Foe of Melniak on this plane," the githzerai stated, "_Know_ that the sharing will help me to overcome."

"Very well," Sir Nevalle replied, mildly perplexed, then launched into his speech, "These people you see around you are now yours to command as you see fit. You are their captain in Neverwinter's service. Make this keep ready for war, gather troops to your banner, and be prepared to strike when this enemy reveals itself. To help you manage the keep, Lord Nasher has assigned you an officer, Kana. In addition, Master Veedle has been contracted to help you rebuild the keep and the surrounding area. You are the master of this keep now—you have earned it through service and blood, and you have earned my trust… and that of Lord Nasher. This is your land. Defend it, for the sake of your people, and the sake of Neverwinter."

* * *

¹ githzerai, "Endure against elements":- _endure elements_  
² draconic, "Fiery Claws":- _burning hands_

* * *

A gazebo had been built under the eaves of the keep in bygone years, and two people now stood under its roof, waiting for them. As they approached, an oriental looking woman bowed deeply.

"Officer Kana reporting for duty, Captain," she greeted, "Lord Nasher has given you a great honour. But rebuilding these grounds will be a considerable undertaking."

"I won't lie to you," the elderly man agreed, "This keep's in a _sad_ state of repair. We'll need all the resources you can bring to bear to fix her up. With the help of my crew, we can turn this place into a _true_ masterpiece of engineering."

"With the help of our crew, I'm sure we can help you achieve that," Kijani smiled, looking around at their damp companions, "While I'm glad you all came, I urge you now, please go and warm yourselves in the inn. Sand, Khelgar and Grobnar, could you perhaps stay and assist us."

"Aye, lad," Khelgar protested mildly, "While I agree that dwarven craft will be needed to make sure this place doesn't fall in on our ears, without ale, how am I supposed to think?"

"You make a good point, Khelgar," Kijani grinned, handing the dwarf some coins, "Bring back a small barrel, some extra tankards and also some mulled wine to take off the chill."

"By Clangeddin's beard, lad, now ye be thinking with your head," the dwarf grinned as he trotted in the same direction the others were disappearing to.

"Master Veedle is excellent at his craft and capable of what he claims," Kana protested lightly, "I am sure we do not need to involve your companions."

"All the same, Kana," Kijani smiled, "the Captain values their expertise."

"I do," Carianna agreed quickly, looking somewhat overwhelmed already.

"Very well," the officer replied, turning on her heel to leave. "There are preparations I must make. Come speak to me within the keep when you would like an update, Captain."

As if used to such interruptions, Master Veedle simply spread out his plans on the table he had had some of his workmen put there earlier.

"I went ahead and inspected the grounds…"

"Master Veedle, if you please," Kijani stopped him again, "I see our dwarf is just returning. Let's wait until we each have something to warm us in hand before you continue."

True enough, Khelgar was climbing up the motte with a small barrel under one arm. Balanced on his other was his tower shield, used as an overlarge tray full of mugs, tankards and bottles.

"That dwarf's capacity for drink never ceases to amaze me," Sand smirked, reaching into one of his pockets.

As if he had heard the elf, Khelgar bellowed, "Nay, elf, stay your hand. The innkeeper, our very own friend, Sal, even had some feywine. Says he's been expecting us and has been stocking up."

"Did he also happen to mention that you'll need to start paying for your ale?" Kijani asked, hazel eyes sparkling in humour, "We _do_ have to fund the keep's refurbishment somehow."

Khelgar merely huffed as if the very idea was preposterous.

As if thinking it was his queue, Master Veedle continued his barrage, "There's _much_ work that needs to be done. The courtyard itself is in a shambles—but that can be fixed quickly. Strong backs and long bells and you'll see the shape of the keep. And—well—what's underneath won't be pretty. Nevertheless, before long we'll have the keep cleared out for you. We're embarking on a true adventure!"

* * *

Crossroad Keep Ruins, the Sword Coast  
_Highharvestide, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

"I wish you would not do that girl," Sand expressed, not bothering to look up from the experiment he was busy with.

A wax tablet, stylus and a smallish lump of clay lay on the table he had asked some of the Greycloaks to prepare for him inside the gazebo. It was perhaps three candles after dawn on another miserable day. The rain had not abated overnight, but he had prepared for it while studying his spellbook earlier that morning. Like the sorceress, he was now also protected against the elements.

"Power is there to be used, elf," she sniffed, unsuccessfully attempting to control her short and dishevelled hair.

"You could have simply shaken your cloak out. These unwarranted displays of…"

"And missed the opportunity to irritate you? Besides, I ache in places I didn't even know exist; shaking would've hurt. If I never see another horse again…"

"So that explains the stable incident at the Academy then," he mused. "Take solace in the fact that as painful as your plump backside is today, your constant butchering of the Draconic is more so to my ears."

"What's the matter, did I singe your delicate elven tips yesterday?" she patronised, "I was only trying to help. It's not my fault Kijani made us ride for endless candles in that rain."

"You would help a lot more if you simply cast yourself off the northern battlements. At least then we would all be rid of your whining."

"If this gods-hrasted rain continues much longer, I might just do that. What're you up to anyway?"

Sand sighed.

"Do you not have someone else to annoy? Khelgar? Neeshka? Yuan-ti half-bloods?"

"After cleaning up after those drunks at the Flagon, I've lost any appetite I may've once had for revelry, smoking some osssra non-withstanding."

Since it was a holiday, most of their companions were spending the day in the Phoenix Tail Inn, spending some of Carianna's—and possibly Kijani's—gold on feasting and drinking. Qara had blanched and begged off, when Sal had mentioned the previous day that it would be the Tail's official opening, with half price off on all drinks.

"Besides, I don't think they like me much," she mused, almost to herself, "If it wasn't that Duncan had had enough of me and forced her to take me along, I'd still be cleaning tables in Neverwinter."

"I have always suspected I do not curse that one tankard drunk enough."

"Very funny, elf! Unless I'm talking to an illusion spell, you're not exactly enjoying the festivities either. Has watching Khelgar throw up finally lost its charm?"

"If you must know," Sand explained evenly, "after our little talk with Master Veedle yesterday, we realised a slight problem. There is simply no way he would be able to obtain enough stone in a short enough time to repair this place before we faced a possible attack from this King of Shadows."

"Well that's pretty obvious. Just look at this place. We should just fry any attackers with spells before they reached us."

"Unlike you, we do not all have unlimited power. The Greycloaks, for instance, would do much better fighting from behind merlons on properly repaired ramparts. However, rest assured that I will personally propose to Kana that when our enemies come, you are allowed to go and stand in the middle of the open fields to greet them. Hopefully one of the ballistae or catapults can shoot some sense into you."

"Well if you're so powerless that you have to hide behind walls, book-reader, what do you suggest then?"

"That we quarry the hills at the back of the keep for stone."

"Oh, how exciting. I think I'll go and watch Khelgar throw up after all. Perhaps I can set fire to his beard this time."

A secret smile played on Sand's lips as the sorceress turned, pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and fumed back into the rain. He pitied the poor fool to get in her way, as steam was already starting to rise where the rain touched her.

"To book-readers everywhere," he toasted, sipping delicately from his crystal goblet, before scratching graceful Elven script into the wax of the tablet.

* * *

Crossroad Keep Ruins, the Sword Coast  
_1 Marpenoth, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

"Will it do, Khelgar? Master Veedle?"

Like the others, Kijani was surveying the granite cliff-face some few hundred yards southeast of the Phoenix Tail Inn, about fifty yards outside the enceinte of the keep.

"There's enough quality stone, I daresay, but we'd have to find quarriers brave enough to quarry up here," Master Veedle replied, seemingly nonplussed about the fact that they were doing their surveying from dozens of feet up in the air.

Khelgar, looking rather green around the gills, was descending rapidly. "Aye, lad, although I'd have to inspect it closer to see if it will hold a stroke," he tried to bluff weakly.

"Know, Master Dwarf," Sand called out after him, "if you touch down on the ground, the spell ends and you will have to walk back."

"Aye, elf, that's what I be hoping for."

"My, this is simply fascinating, Sir Sand," Grobnar enthused, "I have never been a bird before. No wonder they never want to land when I try to trap them for my studies."

"Not that you _are_ one now either, Grobnar," the elf sighed, "Now please tell us, will you be able to build something to transport the stone down to the courtyard?"

"Oh, yes, most definitely! Our quarrying project is in safe enough hands. _Gnomehands._ I was thinking of calling our company…"

"Yes, yes, but what about an aqueduct or sluices or something?"

"…and then we can… Oh, what? Why, yes, but of course, that is no problem for…"

"Sweet Lady Mystra, why did I not prepare any dispel magic today?"

"Come Sand, Master Veedle, not unlike the dwarf, I too long for the safety of the ground beneath my feet," Kijani grinned, "Oh, and Sand, I think your plans will prove excellent."

"Why thank you, I do try," the elf replied graciously.

"Will he be all right?" the craftsman asked, indicating the gnome.

"The better question is, was he ever," Sand drawled, "but if you are asking if he will fall to his death when the spell wears off, the answer, sadly, is no."

The three made for the ground outside the inn, while Grobnar floated behind them, upside-down, as bits-and-pieces of whatever he was carrying in his pouches rained down on the cursing dwarf below.

* * *

"_Know_ that while we remain here, our enemy grows stronger," Zhjaeve pronounced, "_Know_ that stone and arms will not suffice to defeat him."

"Don't you think I don't know that?" Carianna snapped, again feeling utterly overwhelmed by her situation. And the changing feelings inside of her. "I've got no idea what to do next. Nobody, not even Aldanon, knows where Ammon Jerro's Haven is. So at this point, the only thing I _can_ do is wait for the King of Shadows and his army to attack us here. Not that I expect this pile of rubble will stand in his way for long."

They all heard Kana's quick intake of breath, but to her credit the officer remained silent. Years of martial discipline brooked no insubordination

"_Know_ that I am with you," the githzerai soothed with such surety that it sounded as if her mere presence would help to win the war. "There is a ritual you must undergo that will help you to combat our enemy. _Know_ that what you face is no longer an enemy of flesh and blood and that mere weapons will not be enough to stop him. Only by undergoing the Ritual of Purification can you hope to prevail."

"Well then, let's undergo this ritual by all means. Would now be a good time?"

"_Know_ that the Ritual is not a simple one. We must travel to the ancient Illefarn city of Arvahn to find the path of the Ritual."

"Find the ritual? Find an ancient city? And I thought Qara was crazy…" Neeshka exclaimed, her voice rising above its usual squeak in confusion.

"Don't tempt me to have 'an episode', Neeshka!" the sorceress warned, "I'm sure your infernal blood doesn't burn quite as hot as my power does."

"_Know_ that I _know_ the location of Arvahn," Zhjaeve replied calmly, "I can take you there, Carianna."

"How can you be so sure?" the Captain asked, shaking her head, "You've never even been here before. Or were you lying about that?"

"I sense that our communication is limited," the zerth tried to explain, "Your human mind cannot sense my feelings or the psionic words I would speak in my native tongue. To _know_, as I do, is to be that very thing which I _know._ To be something is to live something."

"So, you're asking me to trust that the location of this Arvahn is somehow a part of you?"

"No, _Kalach-Cha,_" the githzerai corrected, "I am asking you to be—to live—with me the location of Arvahn. It is not a simple matter of belief, or trust, or knowledge, but of being."

"Gith philosophy aside," Carianna countered, "I'm not going to go off traipsing behind you, simply to live… I mean _experience_ Arvahn without some planning. I'm not about to have a _third_ Ember trip anytime soon."

"Agreed!" Neeshka groaned, remembering the githyanki ambushes and their second visit, before the trial.

"I sense your reluctance, but your caution does contain some wisdom. How then may I show you where we must travel if you cannot yet _know_ it?"

"Would you be able to show us on a map?" Casavir asked.

"_Know_ that Arvahn is in the woods to the north and east of this place, this keep of yours-from-Garius."

"Kana?" the Captain enquired of her lieutenant.

"I'm sorry Captain," the officer replied, "There may be some maps in the library, or even the west wing, but until Master Veedle…"

"Perhaps I can be of help?" a small voice suggested as a halfling's face peered around one of the hastily repaired doors at the entrance to the keep. During the spell battle with Garius' Luskan mages, they had been blasted repeatedly, and now hung crookedly from warped hinges.

"Guyven?" Carianna actually smiled, "How _did_ you manage to find me?"

"The road tells me many things," the traveller grinned, "It told me that you were here, at Crossroad Keep."

"I'm sorry, Guyven, but as you can see…"

"Think nothing of it," he grinned again, "For now I'll sleep in a tent under the stars, like all of your other guests. Once you have a little place with a roof and door for me, I'll make use of your hospitality, not a moment before."

"Thanks Guyven," the Captain smiled, relieved, "Things are still rather a mess right now. So can you help us? Do you have a map we can use?"

"Now, now, girl, you insult me," he laughed, rummaging quickly through his backpack. "In my travels I've collected—and drawn my own, mind you—many maps of the Sword Coast alone. Here, I think this one will do."

Pulling a chair closer, he hopped onto it and unrolled a rather large and stained roll of vellum out onto the table in front of them. The map showed most of the Sword Coast, from as far south as Waterdeep all the way to the Spine of the World in the north. It also showed places as far inland as Silverymoon in the north and Secomber in the south.

"Guyven, I could just kiss you," Carianna grinned, her gratefulness evident.

"And send an old traveller to an early grave?" he grinned back, "And if that didn't kill me, what would your knight say about that, or worse, try to do to me if I accepted?"

Carianna blushed lightly, and then regaining her composure somewhat, stammered, "He's not like that you know."

"Where on this map would be the Ailwyn River?" Zhjaeve asked, somewhat stunned by the complexity and detail of the map.

"Oh, you won't find that river anymore," the halfling smiled.

"I thought you 'know' where this Arvahn is?" Qara mocked, imitating the zerth.

"Oh, I'm sure she does," Guyven interrupted before the githzerai could reply, "Thing is, the road changes, and so does everything else."

"Meaning?" Carianna asked, growing increasingly frustrated with all the things said that she did not understand.

"Ailwyn is known as Berun's now that the elves are no longer in Illefarn. It's here," he said, pointing to a small river flowing into the Neverwinter Wood from the east, before it joined up with another river further southwest. "It joins here with the Neverwinter, flowing from Berun's Hill all the way to the Sea of Swords, through the city your Lord likes to call home."

"Then it must be close to Sky…"

"The secrets of the druids are not for all ears, Cari," Elanee interrupted suddenly.

"Oh, yes, I forgot. Yet the secret of the shards I carry should be known to all druids in return."

"That is not…"

"Let's not argue," Guyven suggested, "Skymirror is not unknown to me, Elanee, even if hidden by the druids. If you can find your way there, a few more days travel northeast should get you to the banks, roughly halfway down the flow of the Berun's. There are some ruins there, but they'd been overrun by orcs last time I saw them. That Luskan wizard I met lost all his porters in those ruins as I recall. Had no sense for the road you see."

"That is Arvahn," the githzerai declared, looking at the halfling with something approaching admiration, "I can see that you _know_ as I _know._"

"Then we must prepare to face some orcs at the end of our journey," Casavir stated, resolve glittering like frost in his eyes.

"I will have some of your Greycloaks escort you, Captain," Kana suggested.

"No, that will not do, Kana," the paladin disagreed, "A smaller party will travel faster and attract less attention. You should choose your companions carefully for this quest Carianna."

"I will," the Captain resolved, "When do we leave?"

"I should think Zhjaeve would have us depart right now," he smiled reassuringly, "but I think at first light tomorrow will suffice."

"Have one of the men call Grobnar then, Kana," Carianna commanded, "We'll probably need his lore for this and your spells, Qara. If the orcs won't leave us alone, we'll meet them with deadly force."

"It shall be as you command, Captain," Kana smiled, enjoying the first tentative steps of command her captain had thus far shown.


	7. Hoarfrost

_Author's Note_: Please note that some of the material you are about to read is definitely rated as **Mature** Teen for scenes of prejudice, nudity and strong language. You should be 16 years old or older before continuing on, as strong adult themes are explored. Please do NOT continue if any of these make you uncomfortable. There are graphic and descriptive scenes in this narrative.

**Shadow Knight**

_Hoarfrost_

Crossroad Keep Ruins, the Sword Coast  
_7 Marpenoth, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

"Master Veedle?"

The elderly master builder was not quite quick enough to stifle his polite cough at the library door. "Ah, Sand, yes. We're ready for you."

"Very well, Master. Let us go and help the gnome test out his contraptions."

"With the Captain away, I've been meaning to ask…"

"Yes?"

"Are your accommodations satisfactory?"

In the days Grobnar—and a team of Veedle's carpenters—had used to construct the gnome's devices, Master Veedle and some other teams had been steadily refurbishing the inside of the keep. The library and west wing had been cleared out of rubble, and as Master Veedle had put it: "made safe for habitation". Sand was glad not to have to work outside under the roof of the increasingly cramped gazebo anymore.

"They are a welcome change," Sand acknowledged, escorting the builder to the keep entrance.

"Ah, yes. Of course, now the real work begins. Hopefully your magic is adequate?"

"If the gnome's contraptions hold, it will be."

The builder seemed to think about that as he held one of the two doors open for the mage. "Ah, yes, I see. Just like you always know who's at the door?"

"No, Master, that is not magic, but rather a keen sense of…"

"Sir Sand!" a voice piped up enthusiastically, before the owner came bounding up the motte, dodging legs, and other obstacles at knee height.

"Gnomehands!" the mage replied, his sarcasm regrettably lost on the gnome.

"Are you ready, Sir Sand? Will you turn us all into birds again?"

"No, Grobnar, I will _not_ be turning us all into birds again. Instead, I will be turning _you_ into a toad if I get a moment to actually cast some spells…"

"Oh, my, how wonderful! I mean, I have never been a toad…"

"_Silence!_" Sand shouted, "Or I will turn your jabbering self into stone! A very silent stone…"

"That is not how that spell… Oh, I'm so sorry, Sir Sand. I will keep quiet now. Or perhaps just hum a tune. For inspiration you…"

"That will not be necessary Grobnar," Sand sighed, then removed a gull feather from a pocket in his robes. Touching Master Veedle on the shoulder he intoned, "_Ripuva!_"¹

The master builder began to rise into the air as Sand touched Grobnar and intoned the same word again. He soon joined them as they floated gracefully upwards towards the south-eastern granite cliff-face. Waiting for them on a smallish ledge were two of Master Veedle's most capable stonecutters, each secured by a rope from above, and holding a potion bottle in a calloused hand.

"Are you men ready?" Master Veedle called, and they gave him a solemn nod each.

The wizard removed a small, wooden box from another pocket and opened it. Inside was a lump of soft clay, shaped into dozens of smaller rectangles. Carefully removing exactly a dozen, he touched them to the cliff-face.

"_Kanta ondo!_"²

As they dissipated into nothingness, there was a loud crack, then several more, as a part of the cliff-face split into a dozen rectangular blocks, each about two foot wide by a foot high. Knowing it was their signal the two stonecutters each slugged back their potions, and then effortlessly started removing the blocks. They stacked each block onto the wooden framework that had been attached to the cliff-face by Grobnar and his team and grunted in satisfaction. Each block sped off swiftly on rollers to where other workers on the ground were waiting to receive them.

"Gnomehands, indeed," Sand smiled, impressed despite himself.

"I told you the Grob-veyor works." Grobnar laughed, "Shall we test the Gnome-o-gutter next, Sir Sand?"

"Not just yet," the elf cautioned.

"Ah, yes, I see it now," Master Veedle commented, "My congratulations, gentlemen. I think this should speed up rebuilding quite a bit. And at very little cost to our Captain."

Sand repeated the process several more times, until all the little clay rectangles had been wholly depleted. They then floated along the cliff-face to where a large vertical crack marred the surface. Underneath, Grobnar and his team had constructed a large gutter, flush with the rock, leading off and splitting into two gutters leading to the ground.

Sand removed another lump of clay from a pocket, and asked Master Veedle to hold it for him. He then untied a potion bottle and a small goblet hanging from his belt, and poured a small measure of the liquid into the vessel. Handing Master Veedle the bottle, he pinched off a small lump of clay from the bigger lump the man was already holding.

"_Gon natula nend'kemen!_"³ he commanded, drawing the clay and goblet through some mystical passes.

Before their eyes the rock on either side of the crack seemed to bulge, and then collapsing into the crack, spilled into the waiting gutter below, before flowing from there down into the other two.

"Summon me once the men have built up the outer casing high enough to contain the rest," the elf instructed, taking the clay and potion bottle back from the master builder, "Oh and, Master Veedle, close your mouth before the men see you gawking like a half-orc lost in thought."

The elderly man did as he was told, before following the elf to the ground, shaking his head. He could not help but smile as he noticed the gnome spinning cartwheels in the air, singing a short anthem "Gnomehands! Safe hands!" over and over. He could hardly wait to report their progress to Kana and Sir Kijani.

* * *

¹ elven:- _fly_  
² elven, "Shape stone":- _stone shape_  
³ elven, "Rock to become watery soil":- _transmute rock to mud_

* * *

Berun's River, the Sword Coast  
_13 Marpenoth, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

The sun was just rising as they reached the summit of the small, yet highest, snow-covered hill in the area. At the top, an ancient stone arch carved with strange runes, and somehow free of snow, was the only item of interest.

"_Know_ that this is an Illefarn song portal," Zhjaeve declared, "They had many such portals, using these song paths to link their vast empire together. They were unlocked by the singing of the Illefarn people, rather than keys of metal or stone."

"I don't suppose you 'know' the words to this particular one's song, do you?" Shandra asked, a nasty scar running across her face and over her mouth. It was a testimony of when she had bravely stepped between the ogre mage and certain death for Carianna. She was rather proud of the scar, even if it meant she could never again rival the portrait in her tent back at Crossroad Keep. Had it instead been Grobnar, as had been the original plan before Sand vetoed his inclusion, they might have been leaderless at that point.

The rest of the party all bore similar scars, despite the healing at the hands of both Casavir and Zhjaeve. It was a testament to their urgent search for all the Ritual statues, oftentimes searching and fighting long after protective stone skins or other spells and abjurations had worn off. Further healing would blur the scars to faint lines, but it had been a luxury they could ill afford with limited supplies and spells on hand. Carianna now understood how Kijani's skin had become such a quilt of old scars. Thinking of him helped to lift her mood.

"'Know' that the Gith 'knows'," she grinned.

To their surprise, the zerth did not reply, but began to sing, softly at first, as if remembering an old song. Then noting that some of the runes on the arch had begun to glow, she sang with more fervour.

_Lumbule dunien san' lasta amin,  
Kinta en' lempe leithe,  
Ar'Quessir, Teu'Quessir, Or'Quessir, Naug,  
Kurwe Tel'Tua en' Rusvien,  
Illefarn, Illefarn, rusve tuulo' yassene._¹

With the song complete, she simply stated, "_Know_ that the way is open," before stepping through the arch and disappearing. The others looked at each other, shrugged, and followed her example one by one.

* * *

¹ elven, "Shadow rising therefore heed,  
Four of five already freed,  
Sun Elf, Moon Elf, Wood Elf, Dwarf,  
Crafted the Ritual of Undoing,  
Illefarn, Illefarn, ruined from within.":- _Illefarn Portal Song_

* * *

Crossroad Keep Ruins, the Sword Coast  
_21 Marpenoth, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

"Was there something you needed?"

"Somethin' I need?" the voice drawled thoughtfully, copper eyes flashing dangerously from the dark. "Heard you comin', but must say you're definitely not the paladin, stompin' his way through the overgrowth like a swamp boar."

"That I'm not, but then again I'm no saint, just a killer."

"Really? Guess I called it wrong then… Strange thing is, when I shoot an arrow, it doesn't miss."

"I'm waiting, Bishop. I don't trust you—and perhaps she shouldn't, either."

"Sounds like good advice to me. Same thing I tried to tell her about you."

"Get to your point, ranger, or your weapons…"

"You can sheathe those pig stickers for now; I normally shoot someone like you in the back."

"Then you should've taken your chances before now. Now speak, or I'll kill you where you stand simply to be rid of the reek of you—and that of your pet."

Karnwyr growled from the shadows.

"You can distrust _me_ all you want. Thing is, I'm still a league's throw more honest with myself than you are." Bishop scoffed, eyes narrowing fiercely, "Some knight on Nasher's leash who can't figure out how he feels about a woman half the time. And when you _do_ decide, you get it into your skull you need a drink from a wench's cups that don't belong to you."

"She belongs to neither of us, Bishop."

"Nah, don't be defendin' her honour, she can do that well enough herself. And unlike you, knight, I _know_ she can, so I don't need to be gettin' all tough and clench-jawed."

"She seems happy enough not having you around."

"I know what she likes. She likes someone who's not afraid to make the hard decisions; someone who's not afraid to do what needs to be done."

"I must just be better at doing those things then, ranger," Kijani grinned, his hazel eyes etched with steely grey. "Now get out of here, and let her make her own decisions."

* * *

Crossroad Keep Ruins, the Sword Coast  
_22 Marpenoth, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

"Sir! Sir Kijani!"

A polite, but insistent knock at the door followed.

Kijani rolled out of the pallet that served as his bed, pulling his one blade from its sheathe with a rasping hiss. Its twin remained hidden under his pillow. Had something else—say an assassin, or a vengeful ranger—woken him, that naked steel would have met the threat instead.

"Come!"

The Greycloak opened the door, torch in hand, but otherwise unarmed. She had a dagger sheathed in her bandolier, and a rusty and dented buckler strapped to her shield-arm. The moth-eaten padded armour was old but spotless and her boots shone in the scant light thrown by the torch flame.

_She's proud to serve it seems. Good to know. Let's test her discipline and see if Kana's slipping._

"Speak!"

"Kana requests your presence, Sir."

"Tell, _Officer_ Kana, I'll be there in a while, 'cloak," he replied, stressing the unranked officer's title, "What time is it anyway?"

"Beggin' your pardon, Sir. I'll tell Officer Kana at once, Sir. 'Tis still darkmornin', Sir."

_Takes correction well, but needs some military etiquette._

"It's not me you insulted, 'cloak," he replied gruffly, "You can beg Kana's pardon when you report back to her. That way she can add some military teaching to your daily physical drills."

"Aye, Sir."

"And what's your name, 'cloak?"

"Lesa Scyldan, Sir," she replied, finally dropping her gaze, shoulders slumping noticeably.

"Did you lose a man in the war, Scyldan?"

"Aye, Sir. Lost me daughter to the Wailin' before that. Joined the 'cloaks day after they went and hanged the Betrayer."

"Used to seeing a man naked then?"

"Aye, Sir. Can't choose your bunkmate as they say," she half-snorted.

"Only your bunk time," Kijani completed the old military saying.

"You offererin' or just sayin', Sir?"

_She has some stones too,_ he grinned, turning to sheathe his blade.

"Just, saying, Scyldan. You have the look of someone who's not afraid of Kelemvor's gaze on you."

"That I'm not Sir," she said, standing up a little straighter, "Now's that all, Sir?"

"Yes, Scyldan, but make haste and return. I would walk with you on my way to Kana."

"Aye, Sir."

"Dismissed."

_What the hells?_ Lesa wondered as she closed the door, turned, and marched off smartly. A grin formed on her mouth and in her eyes. _So that's Sir Kijani in the flesh then?_

"In the flesh, indeed," she laughed then doubled her pace.

* * *

"Glad to see you can follow some orders, Scyldan," Kijani said, closing the door.

"You may dress quickly, Sir, but the gods gave me some legs to run with if I must."

"Glad to see that Oghma's gift helps you use what the Morninglord gave you. So how'd you like to be my oddsbody until we've beaten this King of Shadows then?"

"Oddsbody, Sir?" she asked, a frown furrowing her brow.

"You any good with that dagger, Scyldan? It as rusty and dented as your buckler?"

"Good enough, Sir, but prefer me some pig sticker like yours. Officer Kana don't let us keep none of the practice weapons, so the knife's all I got. And it ain't rusted none. Shield's rusted, but saved my man's pa and his gran'pa before him."

"Didn't seem to help your man much though?"

"None much he could do against that rotten Luskan mage, Sir," she sighed wistfully, "Never could stand the smell of roast pork no more after we finally found his body. If it wasn't that we wanted to bury him proper…"

"So you in or out Scyldan?"

"What's an oddsbody supposed to do, Sir?"

"Mostly what you're doing now, except with better gear and pay."

"And stop a blade aimed at your back, I'd wager?"

"Only if I'm stupid enough to let my enemies live," Kijani grinned, holding out his gloved hand.

"Good enough, Sir," she grinned back, shaking it, "You can count me in then."

"Had a feeling you'd say so," he acknowledged, "Here's some coin. Go get yourself a pig sticker, some cold iron, and leather armour from the smiths. Then go bug Sand to help you with the recipes and ingredients for putting some very basic enchantments on your gear."

"Aye, Sir."

"Oh, and have him scry your shield for any existing enchantments while you're there. Then drag his skinny elven arse down to the basement when you're done in the library and wait for me there."

"Aye, Sir."

"Why you still gawking at me like a maid on her wedding night then, Scyldan?"

"Just wondering Sir. Why me, Sir?"

"Because you have some stones, Scyldan. The gods know, we're going to need soldiers like you if we're to win this war."

"Thank thee kindly then, Sir."

Lesa surprised the worldly knight and curtsied briefly, before turning and marching off smartly to go and empty his coin pouch.

* * *

"What's _he_ doing here?"

Before Kana could answer, the man in question stepped out of the shadows in the corner.

"Axle wants a word, Kijani."

"You _will_ show some respect, master Riverdweller, or gods help me, I will run you through," Kana hissed with barely controlled ire.

"No need for that, love," he simply smirked, "_Sir_ Kijani and I go back quite a ways. Don't we, guv'nor?"

"You could've chosen a better time, or don't you scurry about during daylight bells anymore, Uncus?"

"Dark deeds are best discussed during dark candles," the man replied, "'Sides, sunlight hurts my eyes something fierce nowadays."

"You should never have picked Baram's side back then, Uncus."

"And what was I supposed to do? Was that or be fed to those hrasted demons Kurth kept summoning back in his Tower. I saw what they did in Suljack's Lodge, saw what they did to Suljack and his glimmersheath. No, guv'nor, I took the better deal."

"And you never stopped to wonder how it was that Baram just happened to be there to 'rescue' you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Kijani noted with some measure of satisfaction that the Shadow Thief seemed genuinely taken aback.

"Baram sold Suljack out to Kurth, you idiot. He sold all of you out, just to get his claws on those Night Brothers Suljack had kept holed up inside the guild."

"Enough with the insults, guv'nor," Uncus raised his hand in warning, "Water under the Winged Wyvern. There's no need to paint anyone's ears with ancient history."

"So what does Axle want then?"

"You're losing your touch. Times past you'd have offered me a mug o' ale before we got down to business."

"Times past I'd have trusted you a lot more, Uncus. But come with me, we might find something in the kitchen at this candle."

* * *

"So what's got Axle all worried?"

Uncus took a long sip of his ale, smacked his lips in appreciation, and then promptly drained his tankard.

"Good ale," he commented, holding the tankard out for a refill.

They had found a small keg from Sal's stock in the pantry, but Kijani was starting to regret having tapped it.

"You're being awfully coy, Uncus. Mind I don't drown you in it," he warned.

"All that dredging up the past earlier is thirsty work, guv'nor."

Despite his urge to throttle, drown or simply plant his silvered blade in the wererat's chest, Kijani took the tankard and poured another, making sure to give it a big head.

_Choke on the foam you little bastard._

"It seems your little warmflanks has been ignoring the man," Uncus finally revealed the reason for his visit, "'Tis a shame really, considering what Axle'd done for her during that whole trial business."

"She's been running around on Nasher's orders," Kijani replied a little too defensively, "or hasn't anyone in the guild noticed?"

"No need to defend her, guv'nor," the thief admonished, "Axle's well aware of the reasons for her lack of respect and that's where you come in."

"Do I look like a runner boy, freshly joined the guild?"

Naked steel was pointing at the Shadow Thief's left eye.

"Sheathe that pig sticker, knight," Uncus warned, his nose twitching nervously, "If you kill me, Axle'll just send another messenger. One that's a lot better than the ones Nasher sent after you."

It was Kijani's turn to be surprised: not by the truth, but by the growing extent of Axle's influence in Neverwinter.

"Did Nasher hire them, or did Axle volunteer those poor souls I sent Kelemvor's way?"

"It's not important," the thief sighed, "Let's just say that Axle's never before sent his best after you, guv'nor."

"I'll be sure to thank him for that one day. One day soon by the sound of it."

"There'll be no need for any of that if you just do this one for Axle."

Kijani laughed.

"You and I both know that's a lie, rat-man, but I'll humour you."

"Glad to see you're seeing reason now," Uncus bristled, "Axle said you'd be difficult about it at first."

"Is that why he sent you? Hoping I'd do him a favour and kill your arse."

"The thought had crossed my mind a moment ago, but I trusted my sparkling personality would win you over, guv'nor."

Kijani laughed again.

"Tell Axle I'll be in town within the tenday."

"Be sure to bring along the tiefling. Axle's got a proposal for her."

"Neeshka?"

"Axle's growing tired of her feud with Leldon and since they're both freelancers, it's time they join the guild or retire. If you ask me, Axle's just being too nice again."

"You've been auditioning as Nasher's court jester again, haven't you Uncus?"

"Don't have the time for that," the thief shook his head sadly, "I've been meaning to ask where I can set up shop here at the Keep. Heard you need some honest merchants to tax."

"We don't have any sewers here, Uncus."

"It's not really a request, guv'nor. Axle's worried about this King of Shadows and asked me to keep an eye on things."

"Rangers, wolves and rats all in one night," the knight sighed, "Ask Kana for some place where she can keep an eye on you."

"Already did. I'll be sure to inform her of your decision on my way out."

"Best have another ale before you do then, Uncus. As much as it's wasted on you, it might just be your last."

"Don't mind if I do," the wererat thanked him as he sauntered out to go and convey to Kana the joyous news.

* * *

"Forgive me, Sir, but I could not get rid of him."

"It would take silvered steel in Uncus' back, Kana, and I don't think that's really your style."

"If you say so, Sir," the officer smiled briefly, before discipline banished the festivities from her face. "It seems you have another visitor though, or rather, one for the Captain."

A solemn, brooding elf in stained walking boots and ripped hide armour stood silently, and unobtrusively, to one side of the keep entrance. Torchlight gleamed softly from the oiled wood—_Duskwood,_ Kijani thought—of the longbow he held, unstrung, in his right hand. He recognised the elf from Carianna's description and from the way he cared for his bow.

"Have you been waiting long, master Farlong?"

"I am elf; it was but a breath or two."

"Aye, less than half a candle then. What brings you to Crossroad Keep this darkmorning, master Farlong?"

"I wished to see about the safety of my foster daughter," the elf replied without a hint of visible concern, "Please, I am a simple woodsman: you may call me Daeghun."

"If you're related to the Farlongs near Thundertree, I think you're being far too modest, Daeghun. From what I've heard they taught old Ansal Bloodshoulder all he knows of woodcraft."

"A fine student," Daeghun agreed, "Not as impatient as my foster daughter."

"Carianna left the Keep on a mission into the Neverwinter Wood two tendays ago. While I'm sure she's seen some danger, she's quite capable, and so are her companions. But I suspect you know that…"

"Nevertheless, I wished to warn her. West Harbor has fallen."

"To the King of Shadows?" Kana interrupted.

"I was not there when it happened, but I think not. The shadows had not yet reached West Harbor when I left there three days ago."

"And you think you could've helped prevent the tragedy, had you been there?" Kijani asked, "As you did the night of the attack that started all of this?"

"No, not this time," Daeghun answered flatly, "I am merely saddened that more townsfolk had not heeded my warnings and left when I first saw the shadows and other dangers in the Mere."

"Harbormen, aye?"

"Stubborn as mere cabbages, as Orlen used to say."

"But at least some, like Orlen, were less stubborn?"

"Bevil Starling may have had the strength to leave, even if Retta would not. I think Tarmas made it out alive too, along with that child—Kipp I think he was named. He more or less took the little pickpocket under his wing ever since Amie died."

"So why did _you_ stay so long?"

"For too long have I sought the scent on the breeze, to learn of the _mori farar,_¹ this King of Shadows as you name him. His power grows as he drains the Mere. Georg, Retta, the Mossfelds and Brother Merring I had to bury and that also delayed me."

"What will you do now, _late atar?_² Do you wish to wait for your daughter?"

"I could find no trace of the Starling children, or the Buckman lads and I had precious little time to waste trekking out to the Lannon farm or that scoundrel Lewy Jons' to search for survivors. I would like to do so now, even as I fear I may be too late."

"Will she see you again, Daeghun?"

"While I have no need for your human emotion, or that of my foster daughter, you were once _elendil'melar._³ I trust you will be able to explain to her."

"Hooves speed you then and Foehammer keep you, Daeghun."

"Uluvathae Kijani," the elf almost smiled, and then turned to walk into the dark.

* * *

¹ elven:- dark hunter  
² elven:- honoured father  
³ elven:- elf friend and lover

* * *

Crossroad Keep Ruins, the Sword Coast  
_23 Marpenoth, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

The Captain had returned to her keep shortly after the fourth bell past highsun the previous day, tired, dejected and footsore. Even the usually stoic Casavir had retired to the Phoenix Tail Inn shortly after, along with Shandra, and ordered a flagon of ale for the both of them, much to the astonishment of Sal, Khelgar and some of the other regulars. Zhjaeve had retired with Carianna to the Captain's Suite, while Qara had gone looking for something to immolate, preferably an elven wizard.

Fortunately, Sand and Grobnar had been busy in the basement, preparing to re-forge Lesa's short sword when the young sorceress had found him. While not quite as satisfying, using her arcane power to keep the forge blazing white hot had seemed to bank her mood as much as the coals. Sand had still winced at her muttered butchering of the Draconic, but had thought better of berating her for it.

Carianna had awoken late that morning, due to the sleep spell the zerth had cast on her at Kijani's insistence, and wandered aimlessly around inside the keep. When she found her way to the keep's library, she was met by the curious scrutiny of Aldanon.

"Ah, welcome back! I remember you," the sage frowned as if trying to remember some historical fact, "Well, I think I do. You were the one with the shards… I hope. Yes?"

As she merely stood there, he continued in a more conspiratorial tone, "I am so pleased you let me visit—the last time I was here I wasn't able to examine much of the Keep or the library, quite a shame."

"Fascinating," she yawned, "I don't suppose you could point me in the direction of Ammon Jerro's secret hideout? I have a sudden urge to disappear from this place and never return."

"Oh, that _is_ unfortunate. I occasionally return to that side project when I have time, but to be honest, it's a difficult stone to crack. I mean, it's one thing to know about a place, and quite another to find it," he droned on before pausing, mistaking her disappointment for confusion, "The distinction is subtle, but there."

"Can't you at least tell me what needs to be done so I can get on with my life?"

"Let's see…" he warmed to his explanation, "You have explored the Illefarn ruins… undergone the Ritual of Purification… and travelled to Old Owl Well…"

"Old Owl Well?"

Aldanon paused for a moment, scratching his beard, "Although I seem to recall something regarding getting several vials of dragon's blood. And, of course, some lich dust."

"Cyric's blood!"

"No, it was dragon's blood, I'm sure of it now. Then there are the three keys: bronze, silver, and red platinum. The red platinum one might need to be re-forged. I think one of the pieces is in Amn… Or was it the Underdark?"

Just then a man, a scribe or librarian judging by his pallor, came in and offered the sage a rolled up parchment.

"What is this young man?"

"Master Aldanon, here is the map with the position marked, as you requested."

Still confused, Carianna blurted, "Is this a map to the Underdark?"

"_My_ question exactly—what is this nonsense? I didn't ask for any 'map'. Can't you see we're having an important discussion here?"

The man looked at the sage, then with a sigh of regret explained, as if to a brilliant but forgetful child.

"Master Aldanon… you requested I chart a possible location for you, based on the information you provided."

_Definitely, a librarian,_ Carianna thought morosely. _A scribe would have fled by now._

"I had the Master Cartographer and several assistants crosschecking the records, and you were correct… this location cannot be scryed, and it bears the telltale arcane marks you indicated would be there."

"So?" the sage asked imperiously, "Marks of what? Specifics, _please,_ or I'll get that gardener, Veedle, to handle my errands from now on."

The librarian sighed a second time, then continued explaining, "Master Aldanon… you did not say what this place was, only what to look for. As you have said, it is one thing to find a place, and quite another thing to know about it at all."

"Wait! You found Ammon Jerro's haven?" Carianna asked, hopeful but still perplexed.

"Yes, I seem to recall asking for this," the sage replied wisely, "Well done, Aldanon, I say—which I do—good for me. Wouldn't you agree… Now where did she go?"

"The Captain seemed in a sudden hurry Master Aldanon. She said something about 'I'll go find it' and ran out."

"Ah, she must mean the dragon's blood and the lich dust. Such a delightful girl, always so helpful…"

* * *

"Have you decided on some companions for this quest?" Kijani asked after they had all listened to a slightly abbreviated explanation by Aldanon, "If not, I'd like to nominate Elanee, Neeshka and myself."

"If it means that…"

"…I don't have to traipse…"

"…into the gods-forsaken…"

"…wilderness behind you…"

The wizard and the sorceress paused briefly, eyes flashing, as if daring the other to continue first. The air in the library started to feel like that just before a summer thunderstorm as power built up and up, waiting for heady release.

"Blood of the god!" the knight hissed, drawing both ivory hilted blades for emphasis, "You two stop now, or to the warhorn with you! Neither of you need get as much as a spot of dirt on your hemline or a twig in your gods-hrammared hair."

"Fine! Sounds like a hardride anyway," Qara sneered, folding her arms and huffing a stray strand of hair out of her face.

"More like a creak-saddle, but for once I have to agree with _her,_" Sand sniffed, turned around and stalked out the library.

"What of the shadow reavers?" the zerth asked as if oblivious or unconcerned with the possibility that burning books and wooden shelves could be deadly.

"_Know_ that I value your concern, Zhjaeve," Carianna replied, "but I doubt they'd be any trouble. Up until a bell ago, nobody in the entire Sword Coast even knew where any Jerro lived. If Ammon Jerro's a sworn enemy to the King of Shadows, I doubt any shadow reaver would be welcome within a league of this haven of his."

"What makes you think we'd be welcome?" Shandra bristled, her pale brown eyes sparkling with anger as she recalled her lost farm, her lost home.

"Because you'll be coming with us Shandra."

"Oh yes, how could I forget? You vampires still need my blood to get into my grandfather's death-filled labyrinth. Why don't y'all bleed me now and save me the trouble?"

"We might need it fresh," Neeshka whispered, just loud enough so that even Aldanon could be shocked by it.

"Judging by that recently healed scar," Kijani soothed, "it looks like you've bled enough for Cari already Shandra. However, despite Neeshka's ill-considered whispering, she's got the truth of it. I assure you, we'll not ask more of you than is desperately required. You have my word."

"Kijani's right, Shandra," Carianna lied, "You've saved my life once already. I wanted you to come with because of your skill and your stubborn blood, not because it is Jerro blood."

"Great. So when do we leave? Can we _go_ now?"

"Neeshka and I will leave for Neverwinter on horseback at dawn tomorrow. The rest of you may follow at your leisure after dawnfry."

"What?"

It was Carianna's turn to bristle, her eyes flaming emerald.

"Why?" the tiefling echoed almost as petulantly as the Captain did, but without the same anger.

"Because I have urgent _guild_ business with your benefactor, Cari, and because he firmly requested your presence Neeshka. If all goes well, and I see no reason why it shouldn't, we'll meet up and travel to Ammon Jerro's haven together from there."

"Axle wants to see me?" Neeshka blanched, "Why?"

"Not now, Neeshka," Kijani admonished, "We'll both know as soon as we meet with him in Neverwinter."

_It's about your little feud with Leldon,_ he signalled to her in thieves' cant.

"Oh great," the tiefling whined, "I suppose that means we'll be drinking nothing but fireswallow on the way again."

"Only if you insist on picking through my belongings as you always do."

"A girl's got to stay in practice," she grinned, then signalled back, _Nice distraction. I sometimes forget about the paladin._

_I thought he made you itch?_ he asked, frowning at her for the others' benefit.

_He's been away for a while,_ she smiled back innocently, then added, _with your girl remember._

"Then it's settled," Kijani frowned briefly, then grinned, "In a tenday or so we shed Shandra's blood in hopes of meeting her grandfather."

"I thought you said…"

"Relax, Shandra," Neeshka giggled, "he's teasing you. Now tell me about those ruins. Was there lots of treasure?"


	8. Winter’s Woes

_Author's Note_: Please note that some of the material you are about to read is definitely rated as **Mature** Teen for scenes of violence, prejudice, nudity and strong language. You should be 16 years old or older before continuing on, as strong adult themes are explored. Please do NOT continue if any of these make you uncomfortable. There are graphic and descriptive scenes in this narrative.

**Shadow Knight**

_Winter's Woes_

Crossroad Keep Road, the Sword Coast  
_24 Marpenoth, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

"Gods, Kijani," Neeshka yawned, swaying in her saddle slightly, "just how early did you drag me out here? It must still be darkmorning; even the Azures aren't up yet to give thanks to Sune."

"I didn't take you for the romantic type, Neeshka," he grinned, huddled in his travel cloak.

The two horses' hooves crunched through the thin layers of ice that had formed on the still standing puddles in the road. The rains had lasted late into the year and the road was in desperate need of some of Master Veedle's attention.

"The Helmites didn't ruin everything about me you know," she sighed, "But you avoided my question."

"It's about half a candle past dawn and there could be harpies about."

"Harpies?"

"Or the few Azures in the area have flown south for the winter."

"They don't really do that around these parts, you know."

"Oh?"

"In the winters they simply use their beaks to dig for insects under the leaves. I've seen them do that myself."

"At Helm's Hold?"

"I'd rather not talk about that. Now what was that about harpies?"

"They say that harpies hate the Azure Thrush more than any other living thing and that a lack of them in an area can often be a sign that there's a harpy or more about."

"You're pulling my tail," the tiefling accused lightly.

"It's the truth. So did you know old Dumal Erard?"

"Yeah, really up on the discipline, not so much on the caring and forgiveness. But they're all priests of Helm, so what are you going to do?"

"And Desther?"

"No, thankfully not. After helping myself to the collection plate during a particularly moving sermon, I decided to see what else I could help myself to and left. Must have been about a year before Desther and his cronies showed up and took over the place."

"They say that Azures make good pets. Is it true?"

"Oh they do, trust me. Always singing along with the world around them," she smiled, and then added sadly, "But once the priests found out, they made sure I couldn't keep him."

"Why?"

"Oh you know, blasphemy and all that. Dumal himself meted out the Vigilant One's law that time, although it felt more like he'd taken lessons from the Maiden of Pain herself."

"Blasphemy?"

"Oh, it probably didn't help that I called him Helm."

Kijani laughed.

"I'm sure. And all that time they thought you were really spending time with the Watcher, probably thinking that their dogma was finally sinking in."

"Something like that," she grinned, despite her mood, "Do you always have this effect on a woman?"

"On occasion."

"You owe me then, for making me spill my guts without so much as a warning."

"If we have time, I'll buy you a meal in Blacklake."

"And help me pick a pocket or two?"

"Now you're pushing it, Neeshka. We're not even on the High Road yet. Let's make a little haste—to warm up and put some miles behind us."

They brought the horses to a canter as the first melancholy notes greeted the sunrise.

_Sounds like a song of shadow,_ Neeshka thought, _At least that means there's no harpies though._

* * *

Merchant Quarter, Neverwinter  
_25 Marpenoth, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

"Ah, Kijani," the Amnian greeted warmly, his smile somehow ambushed before it reached his eyes, "It has been too long. I trust all is well with you and your squire?"

"Axle," the knight nodded, "As well as any commander can be expected to be in these trying times."

"Ah, and the 'greatest thief in Neverwinter'… Neeshka, yes?" he turned his attention to the tiefling, "Such a pity that Leldon also lays claim to that title…"

"Leldon's a fool and a bumbling buffoon," Neeshka exploded before she could stop herself, "I'm surprised he can even find his own backside with both hands."

"Oh, I have no doubt about who the better thief is," Axle's eyes narrowed, "I am just not so sure that either of you deserve such a… shall we say… 'lofty' title."

"What?"

Axle paused as if he had just noticed something unpleasant stuck to his boot, and then twisted the knife.

"Well, considering that both of you are pretty much _guild-less_ scum, doing work in _my_ city only because I have tolerated it up to now."

"What?" the tiefling echoed.

"And to think, I even extended an invitation to Leldon to join us. Do you know what the hrasted fool did?"

"I'm sure we have no idea," Kijani interjected coolly, stepping between Neeshka and the guild leader.

_Unless you want to die right now, shut up and listen,_ he signalled to her behind his back.

"He killed the poor guild member I had sent to deliver the invitation."

"That's Leldon for you," Neeshka managed to sympathise, taking Kijani's warning to heart, "So, is that why I'm here… ah… Axle? May I call you Axle?"

"You are here because my tolerance is at an end. If Leldon had seen fit to join the guild, _you_ would be dead as soon as your service to Cari was at an end. As it stands, the reverse is now true. Leldon's life is forfeit, and you are to be his executioner. Consider it your third act as a _member_ of the guild."

"And if I refuse?" Neeshka had the stones to ask.

Kijani's hands strayed to the ivory hilts of his swords.

Axle looked up sharply, a grin creeping onto his face then spreading to his eyes as he burst out laughing.

"If you refuse, dear Neeshka," he answered in a rich, warm tone, "Leldon will _still_ die tonight, and you will _still_ die at my convenience at some later date."

"So what's my first and second act to be then?"

"Ah, so glad you have brains as well as stones," the Amnian smiled, "Firstly, you will pay your guild fees of course. Considering that you have been working for _so_ long at my discretion, I think some back pay is in order. Shall we say, ten thousand?"

"But I don't have that kind of money…"

"Yes, well that brings us to your second act," the Shadow Thief continued, ignoring her plea, "You will burgle the Collector's Mansion tonight, depositing half of your take with us here tomorrow before highsun. Out of the other half, you may pay your guild fees. Let us hope that you _are_ the 'greatest thief in Neverwinter'…"

"And kill Leldon, let's not forget…" she sighed.

"Oh, I am sure that will not be a problem. Word on the street about your planned endeavour is sure to have reached his ears by now. Why, I would not be surprised if you two 'dear old friends' were reunited sometime before dawn tomorrow."

"You're a heartless bastard, Axle."

"Why thank you, _tiefling._ Now please wait outside, as Kijani and I have some private matters to discuss."

* * *

Blacklake District, Neverwinter  
_25 Marpenoth, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

"I can't believe we're doing this," Neeshka complained once they were seated at a private, or at least corner, table of the Board Laid Bare.

Kijani had chosen a table in the tavern area, rather than the restaurant, as the noise level was much higher and therefore reduced any chance of being overheard.

_Don't mention him by name,_ he nevertheless cautioned her in thieves' cant.

_Why?_

_Discretion saves lives. Often your own!_

"So why are you so smug then?" she asked, taking a tentative sip of the purplish-blue icewine in front of her. Finding it to her liking she continued, "Hmm… nice! What is this stuff?"

"It's Winter Wine, made only here in the North, but blended with Chessentan berries, which gives it its colour. People often joke that the grapes 'caught a chill', which I suppose is true in a way, but has got nothing to do with the colour. And I'm smug for a number of reasons."

"Ooh, no wonder Cari's so in love with you. You're definitely the most interesting noble I have ever met, trust me. Now, are you going to share a little? Just between you and my horns…"

"Yes, but only because it's to our mutual benefit."

"And?"

"Our 'benefactor' thinks to replace me, or at least have a third or fourth pair of eyes close to our Captain at all times. The whole story about your rival was just a ruse."

"What? You mean Lel… I mean, the 'two-handed buffoon' never killed any of the guildsmen?"

"Oh no, I'm sure he did. Just as I'm sure our 'benefactor' knew he would when he sent the poor runner boy with the message. You were _meant_ to be yielded, Neeshka, just as you were meant not to have a choice in the matter. Our 'benefactor' is very clever that way, as he should be, considering his position in the guild."

"Bastard!"

"Oh, I agree, but for now he's still useful."

"Useful?"

"He does make our lives easier."

"You have a funny way of looking at losing ten thousand on top of half my swag before highsun, you know."

"On the other hand, the only person we're liable to run into tonight, besides those already inside, is your 'two-handed buffoon'. Our 'benefactor' made sure of that."

"The buffoon has friends too you know, or at least paid-for acquaintances."

"Isn't it funny how they'll all be sick, or out of town, or visiting their 'dear old Mum', or simply dead in some alley all of tonight."

"Oh."

They sat in silence for a short while as she digested the implications. Kijani leaned over to female patron—a noble or rich merchant's wife—seated discreetly with her gallant at the next table.

"May I?" the knight asked, pointing at her copy of _Neverwinter Nights._

"Eh… oh, say?" she stammered, while the gallant first bridled, then taking in Kijani's armour and weaponry, thought better of it.

"Begging your pardon, _Lady,_" Kijani soothed, "I just wish to see the cover."

Still a little unwilling, but noticing her companion's reluctance to defend her honour, she held up the chapbook.

_Sharwyn Back Yn Towne!_ Kijani read then thanked them both with a tip of his hat, before returning his attention to Neeshka.

"I'd think you rude," the tiefling grinned, her curiosity getting the better of her etiquette, "but what was that all about?"

"Just another reason to be smug," he smiled back, "An old friend is coming to town."

"Like your friends at Korvraun's Armour, The Nightwynd Cloak or Pondur's earlier?" Neeshka asked, referring to the purchases of oil, masks and other assorted items they had made previously in the Merchant Quarter and Docks District.

"No, nothing like that. Those are merely 'paid-for acquaintances' of our 'benefactor' and by extension therefore 'friends' of ours."

"I see," she nodded, "Useful. Now how about that meal you owe me, and perhaps another one of these?"

An empty goblet was dangling from between her nimble fingers.

"Winter Wine!" the knight scolded lightly before calling a tavern wench over.

Neeshka just giggled, making a note of the gallant's bulging purse next to his bulging codpiece. She would be Sharwyn's greatest admirer as she gushed and thanked them at their table once she and Kijani were ready to leave.

* * *

Blacklake District, Neverwinter  
_26 Marpenoth, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

_This is the messiest job I have ever done,_ Neeshka signalled as they finally stood before the open Collector's vault.

After she had relieved the gallant of his purse, they had left the Board Laid Bare amidst a slight drizzle. By the time they had reached the Docks guild house Kijani had lodging at, it had been raining steadily. After preparing for the Collector, they had stepped out into heavy rain, making for easy navigation of the streets. Most of the unlucky, patrolling Watchmen had been as wet and a lot more miserable than they had been. Visibility had also been poor as the rain had long since snuffed out any torches they had and very few carried any magical means of lighting their way. It had been a simple matter of avoiding the lanterns in the Merchant District and using one of the guild's secret ways to enter Blacklake.

Once inside Blacklake again, they had taken to the roofs where possible, to avoid the many glow globes the district boasted. The heavy rain had made this a dangerous route, but one far safer than on the streets, boulevards and avenues where the better equipped Watchmen might have spotted and surely detained or arrested them. Darkly dressed and masked as they were would have been as sure a way to rouse even the wettest Watchman's suspicion as if they had hired a town crier to walk behind them shouting, "Ware ye, these are thieves about!" Once the Collector's Mansion had been in sight, they had been forced to descend, as the barred or shuttered windows had made a loftier ingress impossible.

_Not casing this place was our first mistake,_ Neeshka reflected sourly.

Using her innate ability to summon darkness had seen them to the front door, where they had had their only smile from Tymora. The front door had been locked and trapped, but not barred. Axle must have paid someone, or as it had turned out, Black Bess had just been toying with them. Kijani had surprised her again, removing a small silver coin from a pocket and with a whispered, "_Dinuva!_"¹ had made sure that her lock picking and disarming of the traps would not be heard.

_We have two candles before the spell ends,_ he had signalled her, _From now on it's cant only._

It had been well for that, as she had missed one of the traps. While the draining energy from its release had left her feeling weak and dizzy, nobody had heard her surprised yelp of pain, or the tripped bell's insistent ringing before she could locate, remove and silence it permanently. They had entered quickly, closing and barring the door behind them, only to miss their second mistake.

They had made it to the foot of the stairs to the second floor before they had been forced to fight for their lives. Effectively deaf within their bubble of silence, they had not heard the raising of the alarm their wet footprints had caused, nor the ensuing, heavy-booted pursuit or the shouted challenges when the Collector's guards had found them. Their only warning had been a poorly aimed crossbow bolt suddenly appearing in Kijani's thigh.

_Water elementals would have left fewer tracks._

Kijani had leapt towards the menacing guards, despite the pain, allowing Neeshka to hear the house wizard moments before a silent bolt of lightning had arced through the room, almost blinding her. One guard had convulsed like a puppet whose master was too hard on the strings, allowing Kijani's momentum to bounce him off the hapless man, falling to his knees before the wizard. The mage had smiled cruelly, extending his arm, but as he touched the knight on the forehead to bestow some blighted benediction, a steel blade had erupted from his back.

Kijani's other sword had slashed out sideways, blocking the clumsily swung halberd, while Neeshka had struggled to draw a dagger. A longsword had rushed at his back, only to pierce the wizard between the kidneys, as the knight had spun them around and pushed the mage off to pull his blade free. Longsword had lost his embedded weapon as the wizard toppled to the floor, and then half the fingers of the hand he had held out in an attempt to ward off the slash-cut, before Kijani's other sword-point drew a trickle of blood from his bobbing Adam's apple.

_We should have barred the door again, after we let them go._

The Collector had been stubborn to the end, even after they had threatened the life of his footwarmer, and had been surprised when she had grabbed the dagger from Neeshka's hand and plunged it into his chest. Not entirely useless for killing their only way into the vault, she had pointed out the bookcase before running down the stairs in tears. Spotting the trapped books to either side of the required one had fortunately taken longer than deciphering the Collector's childhood rhyme.

Finding the second key, twin of the one they had found on the thin chain around the late Collector's neck, had been time consuming. It had forced a trip to the kitchen for a jug of water, surprising a poor butler, scullery maid and a cook who had thought to hide there when the guards had sounded the alarm. They had taken one look at Neeshka's tail and shouted in terrified silence, forcing Kijani to bundle her, with silver coin in hand, back out the door while he had smooth-talked the situation. The everburning fireplace had been duly doused, allowing for the quick retrieval of the key, before it had burst into flame again.

_It's about to get messier,_ the knight signalled back, grinning, _'Two-hands' is here._

Neeshka groaned silently.

* * *

¹ elven:- silence

* * *

"You know, I kind of expected some better last words from Leldon," Neeshka sighed as they pulled the door to the Collector's Mansion closed behind them. "He was always such a big talker."

"Well, I think the coin's silence probably helped in that regard," the knight grinned, "Thankfully, I seem to have missed his whole threatening speech."

"Oh, yeah," she groused, "I forgot to thank you for _not_ helping me in there. With Leldon, I mean. You did great with everything else, but he almost killed me you know."

"It was your job, not mine."

"So why did you come along then?"

"Axle wanted Leldon dead."

"So you were just insurance? In case I failed?"

"But you didn't. Even though the chameleon dogged Uerdyl's steps all the way, the serpent has still not devoured the sun."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"See for yourself," Kijani smiled, pointing up at the sky.

It had stopped raining at some point during the time they had spent inside the mansion and the night sky was now clearly visible. Up above, _The Gorgon, The Swordsman_ and _The Serpent_ were still locked in their eternal celestial battles.

"What about Vania, or the servants? Do you think they'll run to the Watch?"

"Vania was the one who killed the Collector, so I doubt she'll have anything to say to the Watch. The ruby you gave her and the coin you gave the servants will help them to disappear without alerting anyone."

"The what? How much?"

"Enough to ensure their silence. Call it running expenses if you want. It _was_ a messy job as you mentioned already."

"I'm still going to owe Axle though," the tiefling groaned, "Some Collector he was; most of the stuff can't even be fenced for more than a few coppers."

"This should help," he offered, "And there's also the bounty."

A white star twinkled from the translucent depths of the sapphire in the palm of his gloved hand.

"Hey! Is there anything else you pocketed while I was fighting for my life?" she asked, incredulity adding an extra half an octave to her whine, "And what bounty?"

"Oh, did I forget to mention it? As of middark, there's a bounty on Leldon's ugly head. No doubt Axle will pay for it out of the bet I lost with him."

"You bet against me?"

"Axle never loses a bet, Neeshka, not even when he loses," he explained, "I had to make sure you didn't owe the Guild anything after tonight."

Satisfied, even if still slightly unhappy, Neeshka's tail stopped twitching like a ruffled cat's.

"No wonder he doesn't trust you. You're slipperier than a Shieldmeet hog the tenday before Highharvest."

"So you also did your share in the Hold's hog pens I see."

"You've got to love those Helmites."

"Let's just say I know how that hog feels at times."

"So what now, Kijani?" she asked, stifling a yawn.

"Now I'll race you back to the Docks. You're not afraid of falling off a roof now are you?"

"You're bad company," she giggled, but he was already running across the street.

_And you're now the greatest thief in Neverwinter,_ he stopped to signal in thieves' cant, before clambering up to the Thieves' Highway in Blacklake.

_With my own tricks,_ she thought as she whispered, "_Dinuva!_" to a small silver coin, then hastily swallowed a milky pink potion and disappeared.

* * *

Docks District, Neverwinter  
_26 Marpenoth, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

"Are you ever going to get up today, Neeshka?" Kijani addressed the tumbling mass of snoring blankets.

The snoring stopped, replaced by a muffled groan, as a tail appeared from the heaving nest, curling sinuously like some exotic snake from the jungles of Chult.

"Wham timb izzt?" the blankets mumbled as the tail disappeared, to be replaced by a shock of pale carmine hair, barely seen peeking from the other end.

"You have about two bells to get to Axle's, or have you forgotten about his deadline?"

"Oh naeth! Haularake! Tluin, tluin, tluin!"

A lithe, freckled and decidedly naked torso erupted from the nest, the bewildered face atop staring around with panicked crimson eyes.

"Quite the offer," the knight grinned admiringly, "but that would make us both late for our appointments."

"What?"

"Never mind, Neeshka. Now settle down and have some morningfeast first."

A smile, like a belated sunrise, broke over her face, calming the confused storm in her eyes.

"Ooh, morningfeast in bed. What's a girl done to deserve that?"

"Well, you did win our race," Kijani admitted, then added sternly, "but I'd want my coin back."

"Want to frisk me for it now or later?" she giggled, her mind finally having caught up with the conversation and his earlier innuendo.

Kijani laughed, shaking his head, and then bent to set down the tray in an attempt to cover his awakening excitement.

"You do know how to show a girl a good time," she whispered in his ear, bringing gooseflesh to his exposed neck, "Thanks for last night, Kijani. I mean it."

"Sakros," he coughed, quickly straightening up to put some distance between his treacherous body and her seductive mouth. "I don't necessarily expect a tumble after taking a girl to evenfeast and a show afterwards, you know."

"I won't tell, if you don't," she purred, her tongue darting out to lick at the morningfeast fruit clasped between her nimble fingers.

"Are you sure your ancestor wasn't some succubus?" he asked, floundering in embarrassment.

Neeshka laughed heartily, suddenly peeling the fruit with a nail.

"Never mind, Kijani. Now settle down or go dunk your head in the harbour."

"I don't think 'Red' Scrag would approve," he complained good naturedly, realizing that he had been bested at his own game. "Besides, the water's probably freezing and I don't have your natural resistance to cold."

"All the better to cool you down then, 'big boy'," she laughed, arching an eyebrow at his trousers.

"Talandor, Neeshka, stop this fiendishness!"

"Only if you tell me where you're going," she countered slyly, her inquisitive nature once again getting the better of her. "Oh, and you'd better turn around now, unless you want to see more than just my fruit and tail this morning."

* * *

Blacklake District, Neverwinter  
_26 Marpenoth, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

The Amnian merchant-lord greeted Kijani warmly, somewhat gleefully then asked, "May I ask what brings such a grim-faced man, all alone, to the manor house of Lord Gannish?"

"I've heard you're a traveller who's seen much of the world," Kijani replied, reminded of Axle's coaching about the noble.

"Once, perhaps, but it has been a long time since I have set foot on the High Road," the man replied coyly.

"Not even to Amn?" the knight insisted, "A friend of mine, just recently returned to the city, was quite the famous bard in Athkatla I believe."

"Ah, well Amn is a different story entirely," he smiled, "In fact, I suspect this bard, a most beautiful creature to be sure, was part of our caravan for part of the way."

"Really?"

"Yes. Why, her rendition of 'Sailing Back Home to Love' one evening had most of our company, including that hard-nosed Jamallo Kreen, longing for a Dayatharra of our own."

"Sharwyn's a good friend, understand," Kijani warned, keeping up appearances, "Was this Kreen bothering her during your journey? Perhaps I should pay him a visit…"

"Oh, no," the merchant quickly added, "'twas nothing like that. He is but the captain of the company of Red Shields we had hired for the journey. I suspect it was his job to be such a tough customer."

"Ah, I see," Kijani seemed to relax, "By all accounts, this Dayatharra of Luskan was a most beautiful creature herself, loved by many sea captains of old."

"Nothing good ever comes from Luskan," the lord blurted then realizing his slip quickly tried to recover. "Or so I've been told."

Kijani prattled on as if he had not noticed, "For the life of me I can't recall who wrote that ballad though. It was some Luskan bard, wasn't it?"

"No," the man was eager to correct him, "It was one Breldur Arskitarr of Neverwinter, if I recall. But let us instead talk business."

"Indeed," the knight agreed, "I have a proposition for Brelaina, if she's interested."

"I am sorry, but I do not know who you are talking about…"

"Oh, drop the act Gannish, if that's indeed your name. And tell your men to stand down. I know you're Watch."

"What?"

"I almost believed you too, but your own fanciful tale and your commendable Luskan prejudice betrayed you."

"How?" the man gaped in astonishment.

"You have a copy of the latest _Neverwinter Nights_ on your desk, and I knew if I mentioned it, you'd grasp at the headline on the cover. You see, Sharwyn never performed 'Sailing' anywhere in Amn. So there's no way for you to have known about it, unless you're from around here. And being a local lad, you've most likely seen her perform it on request here in Neverwinter."

"So what now?"

"Well now we either slaughter each other, good Neveren citizens that we are, or you listen and take my proposition back to Brelaina."

"Very well," the Watchman sighed, giving what Kijani presumed was an 'all clear' signal to his hidden fellows. "Let's hear it then."


	9. Allies of Necessity

**Shadow Knight**

_Allies of Necessity_

Crossroad Keep Ruins, the Sword Coast  
_29 Marpenoth, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

"_Gon natula…_"

"Stop! Stop!" a worried little voice shouted from somewhere below, what had affectionately become known as, the 'Gnome-o-gutter'.

Sand stopped casting the spell in mild irritation, wishing, not for the first time, that he could simply incinerate the cause of the interruption.

_Like that ignorant girl would have, eh, old boy?_

He shook such thoughts from his mind, awaiting either the arrival of the gnome or the news he so desperately seemed to carry.

Work on the keep's outer walls had progressed steadily, so that they had been able to shift their focus to some of the inner walls three days previously. Almost a third of the outer wall had been fully repaired thanks to Sand's spells and Master Veedle's able workmen, mostly masons, stonecutters and a few bricklayers or plasterers. It was just vaguely possible that they had hit their first major complication, Grobnar being the harbinger of their doom.

"What seems to be the reason for this, Gnomehands?" the elf called as he descended to the rocky ground below.

Grobnar paused for a moment or two, hands on his knees as his breath puffed white in the frigid air. The cold wind ripped the plumes away almost instantly. When he had gathered his breath, he launched into his litany.

"It's the Gnome-o-gutter, Sir Sand. It cannot take much more."

"Well," Sand replied imperiously, "I fail to see how that has become my problem. I was under the impression that your workmanship was without equal here at the Keep."

"Oh but it is, Sir Sand, it certainly is. It's just… well, not to put too fine a point on it… it was never designed to carry so much frozen mud all at one time."

"What frozen mud?"

"Oh you know: the frozen mud that keeps on accumulating in the central gutter each time you send down another load, Sir Sand."

"What the hells are you babbling about, Grobnar?"

"Perhaps you should come and see for yourself," the gnome offered, "It's most impressive, Sir Sand. Almost like a dead earth elemental. Well, that is if it had been melted by Lady Qara first, and then allowed to run down the Gnome-o-gutter and then frozen by the breath of a… well a white dragon or a Rashemi orglash, I suppose."

"While I am sure you exaggerate the problem with your use of the poetic, I suppose I shall have to. 'Tis a good thing I have been preparing a few extra flight spells lately."

"Oh, no, Sir Sand. You can save your spells," Grobnar replied eagerly.

"Oh?"

"The men and I have installed a kind of lifter… well, that's to say… a humanoid conveyor, as long as you're not a giant or a Khelgar…"

"And?"

"I mean, it lifts people. Up and down, you see. It's got pulleys and rope and levers and… Oh, my goodness, that will simply never rhyme…"

"Grobnar!"

"Yes, Sir Sand?"

"Just lead the way," the wizard suggested, his ire greatly overshadowed by his inability to simply throttle some sense out of the gnome.

* * *

"I'm so sorry about that," Grobnar explained, hanging by his fingertips from the planked, wooden floor of the elevator. "Bad, bad Construct!" he shouted down at the oblivious golem on the ground.

"Just…" the elf struggled ineffectively, trying to loosen his sleeve from where it had gotten caught in the mass of gears, cogs and wheels at the back of the contraption.

Taking a deep breath, he tried again, but only managed to get his hand smeared with dirty, black grease and his knuckles skinned.

He swore, the Elven curses puffing out like little white exclamation marks in the cold air.

"Just get back up here and… dare I suggest it: cut me loose."

The icy rain that had been threatening all day, finally started to fall, turning his hair and robes to a sodden mess in the time it took the gnome to clamber back on board and cut a ragged six inches from his trapped sleeve.

"Slowly, Construct!" Grobnar called down this time, and the elevator started moving up again, jerking to a gentle halt at the top.

Sand peered thoughtfully at the frozen mess in the central gutter, sucking at his bloody knuckles, while muttering in Elven.

"I've seen enough," he declared, then with a dignity reclaiming, gull feathered flourish and intoned, "_Ripuva!_" started flying towards the keep entrance. "Meet me in the library in half a bell, Gnomehands. No, make that a full bell and bring the _girl_ with you."

He was somewhat satisfied to hear a commanded, "Down, Construct!" then a surprised yelp and loud crash coming from behind him.

* * *

"So what's this about, elf? And why'd you have to send the _gnome_ to come and fetch me?" Qara asked as she entered the library.

Sand sighed, mentally bit his tongue and looked up from the voluminous book he was poring over. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the hovering, glowing spheres he had used to illuminate his reading.

"Ah, Qara," he greeted, "Just the _girl_ I wished to see. Why, did you not appreciate Gnomehands interrupting your 'beauty sleep'?"

"Would you really like me to burn down this library around your _charred corpse,_ elf?"

"Fortunately, I have warded it against all forms of fire, _girl._ Priceless knowledge like this should be protected from unschooled barbarians like you, after all."

"And here I thought you were going blind as well as senile with all these mere cantrips floating around."

"While I _so_ enjoy our banter, I can see that I have made a mistake. You are clearly not up to the task I had envisioned."

"What task?" she asked, falling neatly into his verbal trap.

"Oh, 'tis nothing really."

"_What task?_"

"Creating a new spell, using your unlimited power. As I said, I was mistaken."

"Is this place warded against lightning too, elf, or are you going to explain yourself?"

"Oh, very well," he sighed, "I guess it cannot hurt to tell you about our little construction problem…"

* * *

"_Know_ that what you ask I cannot accomplish," Zhjaeve replied gravely.

"But you do have spells of protection against the elements, don't you?" the young sorceress asked, frowning, "Like the one you cast on the elf that day we first got here, right?"

"_Know_ that by my will, I may summon many forms of enduring, just as you may summon many forms of destruction."

"Well, I'd hate to see that elf being right about something," Qara grinned fiercely, "So let's try that spell first."

"What would you have me do?" the curious githzerai asked.

"Cast that same spell on me, so that I can feel what it does and how it taps the Weave."

"Very well," the zerth agreed, laying her slender hand on the young woman, "_WihQa'zo'fehKa'dhe'zh'to'mahli'ne'!_"

"Yes, I know this one. It is useful, but I don't think it'll do. Let me just… _Iba Nar!_"

Touching her flaming hand to her robes, the sorceress smiled as the fire was extinguished while she felt the protective power dissipating.

"Do you wish for more powerful endurance?" Zhjaeve asked, her face an impassive mask behind the veil she always wore.

"Yes. Can you cast something stronger on me?"

"_Know_ that I am able, but that I would rather dispel the power this time. I fear for your safety."

"Just do it, Zhjaeve, and let _me_ worry about that."

"As you wish," the githzerai conceded, again touching the sorceress as she intoned, "_WihQa'zo'fihKa'dhe'zh'to'mahli'ne'!_"¹

"Good! I know this one too," Qara claimed, before reaching out to the zerth in turn, "Let me just cast it on you too and then test it. _Indelstan Nuade!_"²

"_Know_ that you are correct. Your will is as my will in this."

"Good," Qara grinned, "Now stand still for a breath or two. _Iba Dos!_"³

Engulfing flames sprang up from the stone floor of the basement, licking hungrily at the two, but to no avail. When the heat started becoming noticeable, Qara extinguished the flames with an angry wave of her hands.

"It's no good!" she cried out in frustration.

"_Know_ that you fight the Foe of Melniak in this, but that you shall prevail by your will."

"It doesn't last long enough, and I can already hear that stupid elf laughing as he tells the rest of them about my failure. I might as well go back to Duncan's stinking Flagon and clean up puke again."

"_Know_ that I have even greater endurance to bestow upon us, or would you rather not shape any more power by your will?"

"What have you got?" she asked hopefully.

"First, I would _know_ how you will test this, so that our wills may be as one."

"With fire of course."

"Perhaps our wills should be focused on enduring cold rather…"

"No, it has to… Wait a moment! Perhaps you are right. Instead of trying to protect and warm the frozen sludge at the same time, I should simply learn to stop it from freezing in the first place."

"It is often said among my people that if Melniak had known Senzi's Reward, he would have triumphed all the sooner. I am honoured to have seen that come to pass before my eyes."

"Then protect us from cold, and let me see if I can turn us into icy statues."

"It shall be my pleasure," the zerth replied with just a hint of a smile in her eyes, "_WihQa'zo'fihKeha'dhe'zh'to'mahli'ne'!_"ª

* * *

¹ githzerai, "Be protected against elements":- _protection from energy_  
² draconic, "Energy Protection":- _protection from energy_  
³ draconic, "Fiery Wall":- _wall of fire_  
ª githzerai, "Be immune against elements":- _cold immunity_

* * *

Crossroad Keep Ruins, the Sword Coast  
_30 Marpenoth, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

Silence grabbed a rough hold of the patrons as the door to the Phoenix Tail Inn banged open, revealing the young sorceress, robes and cloak cracking–whip like–around her slender frame. Her short, auburn hair whipped around her face and into her eyes like the crazed snakes on the head of an irate medusa. With graceless, but grim determination, she stumbled over the threshold, turned and wrested the door out of the gale's grasp and managed to wrestle it shut. She collapsed against it for a moment, regaining her wind-stolen breath, and then seemed to disappear in a small cloud of vapour. Dry once more–and seemingly unashamed of the inordinate amount of her naked legs the gale had shown the stunned patrons a moment earlier–she strode towards the bar.

"By Tyr's left buttock!" the dwarf oathed, "And here I be thinking this day couldn't possibly get any worse."

"What?" she smiled at him sweetly, "Miss tripping over the horned one's tail already?"

"Nay, Princess Firehair, and I don't be enjoying your company neither."

"Oh, come now, Stumpy? I traipsed here through that 'wonderful breeze' outside just to see what's become of the famous Ironfist manhood."

"I'm not in the mood, lass. Why don't ye go start a fire somewhere else?"

"Can't I at least buy you an ale, or is the manhood small enough already?"

"Aye, if ye be offering, it'll at least make up for your company…"

"Why don't you go and find us a nice, empty table then, Khelgar," she suggested, "I'll bring our drinks."

"As long as ye don't spill any of it on your way over," he grumpily agreed.

"I've had enough practice at the Flagon, Stumpy. Mind you don't trip over your beard rather." Turning to Sal, she said, "One small ale please, Sal."

"What're you up to lass?" the barkeep asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

"Don't worry your head about it. I won't set fire to the place, if that's what you're asking."

"I don't want no trouble you hear," he admonished, handing over the flagon.

"_Yarchonis Gul!_"¹ she quickly intoned, dipping a finger into the liquid, before licking it off.

"Hmmm," she smiled sweetly, before the barkeep could object, "At least your ale is better than Duncan's, Sal."

"I'm still keeping my eye on you, Qara," he warned, but she had already walked off towards their table.

"Such a small flagon, Princess?" Khelgar asked, taking a long swallow from it, "Bah, and warm too!"

"It's small because I won't be pestering you for too long, Stumpy, but allow me to cool it down for you."

"Well that's a… What the…" he started, but the sorceress had already risen from the table, extending her hand in his direction.

"_Chaun Gul!_"²

A miniature blizzard seemed to originate from Qara's palm, aimed at the flagon, but also catching most of the dwarf and the table in its fury.

"By Clangeddin's beard," he managed, before his teeth started chattering too much for any more sense to leave his mouth.

"Drink up, Stumpy," she giggled, pointing at the small icicles clinging to his facial hair, "It'll help with those."

"But it's still warm," he protested, grimacing at the small swallow he had nevertheless managed.

"You won't believe how glad I am to hear that," she smiled triumphantly, "Be sure to tell that pompous elf when next you see him."

* * *

¹ draconic, "Keep Away Cold":- _resist freezing_  
² draconic, "Spit Out Cold":- _cone of cold_


	10. Allies of Necessity new

_Author's Note_: Please note that some of the material you are about to read is definitely rated as **Mature** Teen for scenes of strong language. You should be 16 years old or older before continuing on, as strong adult themes are explored. Please do NOT continue if any of these make you uncomfortable. There are graphic and descriptive scenes in this narrative.

**Shadow Knight**

_Allies of Necessity_

Crossroad Keep Ruins, the Sword Coast  
_1 Uktar, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

"Show me again, girl," Sand requested, the note of sarcasm uncharacteristically absent from his tone for once. "Slowly this time, so that I may copy your mystic passes."

"So, our truce is at an end then, _elf_?"

"Oh gods, no, my dear, impetuous girl. I simply am much older than your mere ten-and-seven summers, and we must keep up appearances. Rest assured that for now 'girl' is in respect, if not always in endearment."

"And what's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Have we not gone over this already? Last night? In this very same spot?"

"I don't need a _dictionary,_ book-reader."

"Then what do you need, my dear girl?"

"It's just…" she tried, fingers frantically pulling at her dishevelled hair.

"Do try to spit it out," he encouraged, most unhelpfully.

"Sa_bru_in!" she hissed, savouring each syllable like some exotic delicacy.

"Such language, girl!" he reprimanded, only half shocked, "I must have a serious word with Duncan about how many bells he forced you to work in the Flagon."

"No, you won't! And I could say the same about you, haularake!"

"I may have my shop in the Docks, but I never use language…"

"Exactly! You just endear and respect others with petty, sarcastic, hurtful naed. And you don't even notice it."

For a second time in as many days, the wizard was speechless.

"What?" he finally managed.

"Forget it. I don't need _you_ and I don't need this place."

"Peace! Qara. Dearest? I'm not one of your Academy instructors…"

"And you therefore hate me for it! Hated me for it since the first day I stepped into your hrasted shop…" she accused, her eyes blazing fire.

"No!" he denied, quickly, too quickly, "Perhaps… Yes, haularake, yes, I do… I mean I _did,_ but…"

He stopped and sighed heavily as he took it all in. Her undeveloped, modest beauty, marred by the hot tears flowing down her face to drip, sizzling, to the stone cold floor. A face spoiled by the harsh mask of her powerful aloofness; a mask to keep her demons at bay.

"I have my own demons girl," he sighed then smiled shyly. "Please forgive what has become a convenient habit when speaking to you and give it time."

Her mask melted for a moment as more tears flowed. Then, with a sniff, and childlike sleeve-to-nose wiping, she gathered it up again, as unwilling as he was to face the demons at that time.

"Time we don't have, eh?"

"We do have the present."

"Well then watch closely. _Yarchonis Gul!_"

"Impressive," he commented, "And _subtle_ too."

"But I still butcher the Draconic," she managed to grin, pleased by his praise.

"There is that," he smiled, "but I will come up with something more appropriate for the verbal uttering in Elven. And perhaps add a pinch of snow as a material component, to compensate for your use of raw power."

"And the name?" she asked, given hope by his amenity.

"No."

Her face fell at his adamant refusal, before he continued.

"I personally think _Qara's Affection_ is a much better choice than your suggested _Sand's Supercilious Shield._ No matter how appropriate that choice may have seemed to you, all things considered."

"On one condition?" she smiled as emotion, and not power, flushed her face with heat.

"I'm listening."

"I would want a copy for my collection."

"I shall bring it by after eveningfeast then," the elf grinned, "but for now, I think you should leave so that I may try and concentrate on replicating the spell."

"Am I that distracting?"

"Yes," was his simple answer, "Please ask Gnomehands to collect me some snow on your way up, dearest."

"I'll tell him to ask Khelgar to help," she grinned, "I'm sure after yesterday's frosted beard the dwarf would just _love_ an outing in the cold."

"That's my girl. Now, off with you!"

* * *

Neverwinter Woods, the Sword Coast  
_1 Uktar, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)_

What had been a gentle breeze when they had left Neverwinter four days previously had turned steadily stronger as the weather had worsened. Flying twigs, broken from trees by the then near constant gale had been a painful irritation, forcing Elanee to enchant them all with skins of bark. Progress on foot had become seriously impeded, while moods had waned low and tempers waxed high.

They had made camp almost a candle later than usual, and had to resort to trail rations as hunting and fire had been out of the question. Pitching their three tents had been an effort in frustration, finally allowing the four women to fall onto bedrolls, cold, damp and exhausted. When Kijani had poked his head into the tent Neeshka and Carianna shared, the first argument had started.

"But _why?_" Neeshka whined nasally.

"Because even though orcs or goblins might not be about in this weather, this far north, _and_ this close to the mountains, crag cats definitely will," the knight said.

"And because you drew first watch at the start of this miserable trip," Carianna groused from her side of the tent.

"Are you trying to say something there, Cari?" the tiefling shot back.

"Well you do have the quickest fingers of us all."

"And what's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Would you like a dictionary, Neeshka?"

"Would you like a dagger in the _back,_ Cari? Are you trying to say I somehow managed to cheat with Sir _Slavedriver_ over there holding the lots?"

"I'm not _trying_ to say it, arse-for-brains, I'm _saying_ it."

"What the hells…"

"You've got that right, you fiendish little thief."

"What…"

"Neeshka, out!" Kijani commanded, his blazing hazel eyes promising swift death to the tiefling if she disobeyed.

"But…" she nevertheless tried.

"Steel!" he oathed, "I said, out, Neeshka. I'll take care of this."

Slightly mollified, the tiefling shut her mouth and pulled on her cloak before grumpily exiting the tent.

Carianna stared daggers at the closing tent flap, before sulkily turning her attention to the knight.

"What?" she asked peevishly, arms folded firmly across her chest.

"What the caztul was that about, Carianna?"

"Oh, I'm sure you know Sir _Banner,_" she replied, "And I must be in serious trouble now, for you to call me 'Carianna'. But I warn you, you're not my father, and even he didn't always achieve much when he used it."

"Yes, he's much more honourable than me," he agreed, "But nor am I Lorne or Bishop. I did not tumble with Neeshka, seeing as that seems to be the reason for your behaviour the last few days."

"Oh, I believe you," she replied sarcastically.

"Aye, nothing is truth that has not been tested in battle," he agreed, "To your weapons then, squire, or Cyric help you, I'll skewer you where you lay."


End file.
